Burning Ice
by karlyhigurashi
Summary: During a casual performance of his duet with Yuuri, Victor fell forward after losing his balance, despite knowledge of the fall's risk. He made this decision in an attempt not to collide with Yuuri and injure them both, resulting in a detrimental knee injury that forced him into permanent retirement. Finally at the height of his career, Yuuri decides to skate on, for them both.
1. Chapter 1

My eyes burn. It's the same every morning: the empty space beside me is cold and untouched, the sheets flat, without discernible wrinkles both to the touch and to the eye. The mattress maintains the impression of his body, though. Years of wear do not disappear as easily as the people who leave their touch upon them. These thoughts have suffocated me since he left, and my right side has grown accustomed to the chill of his absence.

I reach over to the nightstand and disconnect my phone from the charger, instinctively checking Instagram. Chris has posted photos of his partially clothed chiseled figure per usual, courtesy of some poor bystanders at a hotel in Finland. Yurio and Otabek seem to be getting along nicely again this season, given their almost romantic photo from last night's dinner at a table for two. Phichit posted another selfie, this time in front of the Sibelius monument, the same old smile sitting naturally between two chubby cheeks. The description catches my eye, reading "Take a break from all that training and come sightseeing with Celestino and me yuuri-katsuki". Curiously, I check up on my disciple...if it's still appropriate to refer to him as such.

His last posted photo is always the same. My smile, or at least my attempt at one, shining sorely, my shoulders clothed in an unsightly white hospital gown. To Yuuri, this photo is all that's left of me. It's where I ended and he began.

I don't know what's wiser, to feel hopeful or depressed. I turn off the screen and rub the crust from my eyes. Getting both knees to bend when I tell them to is an everyday struggle. I knew then, and know even more certainly now, that it was a lie to tell him I would beat his free skate record and take back what was mine. Twenty nine. That's the next milestone. A few days from now Chris will skate in his last competition, without me. Yuuri will stand in the center of the podium, Yurio to his left and Otabek to his right. This I know is certain, just as I know that these two old feet will never balance on _their_ ice again.

[A/N: Victor is sleeping in Yuuri's old bed. It's not necessarily true that they spent much time in it together (or at least, not _years_ ), but this is why his impression in the mattress remains, and why it contributes to Victor's anguish.]


	2. Chapter 2

The ISU Championship Men's free program, long awaited in the Katsuki household, takes place today in Helsinki. The television serves as a hearth in the resort, usuals and tourists alike huddling around it whenever these events come around. The warm light of the room differs entirely from the cold and apprehensive world within the screen. Minako sits smack in the center of the chabudai, per usual, downing a special selection of booze for the occasion. Against my good judgement I'm drawn to her side and plop down on a worn red cushion.

"Ey Victor, you're finally awake!" she smiles, throwing her arm around my neck. This sentiment confuses me, and I squint over to the time in the news crawl.

"It's only quarter to eight," I complain, "I'm up particularly early."

"Well, it's quarter to three in Finland!" she puffs out her cheeks, "Were you _trying_ to miss Yuuri's performance?"

"Minako," I groan, "I wouldn't miss it for the world. But we've still got three hours before any competing starts, and I don't care so much for theatrics and commercials."

She snickers at that, stretching her knees beneath the table. "Fair enough. After all those years competing, I thought you might have grown fond of all that stuff."

I rub my knees, a little disappointed by the assumption that I lack authenticity. "Nope."

Minako sighs, "I guess hot guys are just hot guys unless you have a dream of standing beside them. Those three, ya know, they get a kick out of the whole thing."

Only then do I realize the Nishigori triplets slouching in front of the chabudai beside us, each of them scrolling through various web pages on their netbooks, littered with walls of text and figure skater portraits. They acknowledge us too when they realize they've been mentioned, nodding at me.

"Hmph. And how are you three coming along with your private lessons?" I ask, grinning in a purposely terrifying way. They're growing up too fast, and I know they can go places with their extensive interest in the sport.

Lutz explains nervously, "It's...it's coming-"

"It's coming along!" Loop and Axel finish with confidence.

"Alright you three! Someday you won't just be hopeless fangirls!" I joke. They smile with an innocence I can't help but admire. Minako laughs too, taking advantage of the unusual break in the wall I've built up around myself to pour me a shot.

"Minako, it's still morning-"

"Stress doesn't discriminate, so why should alcohol?" she jabs me in the side. I sigh, holding the glass up to my nose.

"Is this whiskey?" I ask.

"You betcha, 99 proof. Straight from Scotland."

I sip it, the liquid stinging my tongue. Just because I'm Russian doesn't mean I fancy alcohol, but I certainly don't hate it either. Drinking before eight in the morning, however, seems a little ridiculous...especially when it isn't vodka.

The room settles, and the warm ups continue. The MC seems to pick favorites, concentrating the attention of the broadcast on specific pairs of men. I slouch over the tabletop, listening passively to the foreign voice without reading the subtitles. I was never very good with the kanji anyhow.

Time passes slowly without a second hand.


	3. Chapter 3

[A/N: 4 months prior to previous chapters: approx. early January]

"Tibial plateau fracture...the x-ray is clear...our best option would be surgery...Sir...no, we can't be _certain_...at his age, there can be...without it, he could lose the use of his leg completely...it isn't wise for him to continue skating, even so…"

"Yakov doesn't know when to quit," I say hoarsely, a sour taste in my mouth. I look up at Yuuri who sits across the room distantly, desperately wishing for some sort of response. We've spent several hours in this white hospital room now, and the blinding glare on the windows is the only thing keeping the blackened night skies from cloaking us in total darkness.

I know this silence, the indication of guilt and anxiety that occupies his mind. He won't even look me in the eyes...instead they wander across the linoleum floor, as if chasing innocent dust bunnies, searching for some source of courage.

I wish for once he could be the strong one. I wish for once that I could be the one to break down and cry, and that he would race to my side to hold me. I don't blame him for his inability to do this for me, but I don't know if I have the courage to comfort him further.

"You already know this, Yuuri," I croak, "But this accident wasn't your fault. Out on the ice, we're...we were a team. We were both responsible for our own two feet, and for each others'. When I fell, I made the decision to do so the way I felt was right."

His eyes glisten at me, reflecting back the fluorescence of the bed lamp.

"You made the decision...to fall the way you knew was _wrong_." From deep within he releases a deep whimper. His two strong knees lift him up, and he comes to my side. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry for always being selfish and for always needing you. I realized back in Barcelona that you had those emotions inside too, that you had a heart of glass, and _I_ had the power to shatter it. So I tried so hard to make it up, to erase what had happened, and I couldn't even do that...now this, this makes me so afraid...because if I go on, even if it's for you, I'll be leaving you behind…"

Yuuri doesn't cry. His eyes threaten to, but he blinks it away, reaching down to grab my hand. He squeezes it hard, to comfort me, then raises it to his chest. Beneath this hospital gown I'm naked, but his body still shines, clothed by the theatrical glitter of our matching costumes.

"I'm still anxious, Victor, but I know what my heart is telling me to do," his voice cracks and he pauses for a long while, still holding my hand in both of his.

"You're going to keep skating," I state, neither happy nor hurt. I reach my other hand over to his scalp, tussling his oily hair, hours earlier drenched in sweat.

"Does it hurt?" he asks. I don't know whether he means my chest or my knee.

"No," I say. But I don't know if I have the courage to comfort him further. Suddenly a wet warmth gathers on my lips. I look surprisedly at Yuuri, his eyes closed almost peacefully, his hand cradling my chin gently. I close my eyes and let go. He holds it for a long moment, unafraid, and it feels nice. When we part his eyes settle lovingly on my face, pink with a startled embarrassment, yet calmed by his kiss. He looks away, rubbing his ear, as footsteps approach the door frame.

"Nikiforov?" a nurse inquires.

"That's me," I smile, somewhat genuinely. I can still feel the warmth on my lips.

"We'll be doing surgery tonight, as long as you permit it. It would be best not to wait until morning, because we don't want anything to settle for too long, given the time of the accident."

"That sounds fine to me. Thank you."

"The surgeon is in operation right now, but he's projected to finish within the hour. We'll be taking you then, so I'll start a drip," she carts in a large metal structure, from which hangs an IV bag filled with clear liquid.

Yuuri stands timidly, his arms behind his back, as the nurse pricks me. I look away as the hypodermic slides into my vein, having always hated needles.

"You may start to feel groggy in a few minutes, so I suggest you two say your goodbyes soon. You should be cleared for visitation early in the morning," the nurse explains as she covers the vein in gauge and bandages.

"Thank you," I say again and she nods, writing something down on her clipboard and hurrying busily away. Another silence threatens to fall between Yuuri and I, but I quickly break it.

"Before you go, take a picture for me. I would do it myself, but I don't have my phone."

He nods, setting down his athletic bag and finding his phone.

"Say cheese," he croaks, and I realize why he hasn't spoken. He's trying to be strong for me. I smile, grateful for his attempt, even if it feels cold on the inside. As he puts his phone back in the bag, zipping it up tenderly, I know I have the courage to comfort him further.

"Yuuri."

He gathers his things and turns around.

"Yes?"

"I'll be waiting."

He nods, bringing his hand to his face and glistening through the door.


	4. Chapter 4

[A/N: Direct continuation of time after Chapter 2]

"I know you said you'd wait for him, but I'm warnin' ya, when _I_ told him so he left me waiting for _five years_ ," Minako laughs, under the influence of more than enough alcohol at this point.

"Heh, well that's reassuring," I try to chuckle back, twisting the empty octagonal shot glass around on the table. My stomach rumbles, both from nervousness and lack of food.

"Oh, don't listen to her," Loop interjects, ripping her eyes from their place in the digital world and gesturing with a vicariously embarrassed look on her face.

"Sure, mama said it was about that long, but Yuuri wasn't in _love_ with Minako-sensei," Lutz giggles.

My face goes red at the thought of being in love, and I impulsively feel for the gold band on my finger, wondering if Yuuri is still wearing his. The MC starts to introduce the competitors as they amble into the stadium, several already having been released onto the ice.

"Scotch?" Minako suggests abruptly.

I really don't need any more alcohol in my system, but she seems adamant in helping me relax before the performance, as if some extension of myself will be essential to Yuuri's victory.

"Uh...bourbon," I concede. She pours a tall, clean shot glass of scotch anyway, ignoring my preference as if it was never a factor of the exchange.

"I hear Yakov has a couple surprises in store for us," the sub announcer butts in, "For both Yuris."

"Those two have pushed themselves to their limits, it seems, at every competition. But every time the audience assumes they're at their best, the performances get better," the MC reverberates.

"They're pretty candid," Minako complains, "Is that allowed?"

"Does it bother you?" I chuckle.

"Not when it's about our biases, but I wonder how JJ's fans feel now…"

That one gets me to laugh. I cover my mouth, coughing out a rawness in my throat. Down the hatch goes a refreshing shot of scotch.

"Another?" she asks, already holding the bottle.

"I'd like to stay awake long enough to see him, love."

Suddenly Mari comes by and grabs the bottle from the table, picking up our two empty shot glasses between her fingers.

"What are you doing?" Minako demands.

"Cutting you off," she yawns, "You'll thank me later."

"Pfft. Like hell I will," Minako drunkenly scoffs.

"It looks like they're beginning to kick the gentlemen off the ice," the MC says, "not too long now before our first competitors perform."

"What's the lineup like today?" the sub announcer inquires. The list of familiar faces and names, alongside bright national flags, pop up on screen. The first fifteen or so faces are either newly inaugurated senior skaters or those who annually scrape by by the skin of their teeth, but the top six are men I sat alongside only a few months ago.

"Seung-gil Lee, representing South Korea; Phichit Chulanont, representing Thailand; Christophe Giacometti, representing Switzerland; Jean-Jacques Leroy, representing Canada; Yuri Plisetsky, representing Russia; and Yuuri Katsuki, representing Japan."

I thought it would be torturous having to sit through the 23 performances before Yuuri's, but I honestly feel entirely disconnected from these people. It feels like I'm watching a movie filled with characters that don't contribute to the plot. Even JJ's revamped confidence spurs no emotional drive in me. All I see are technicalities and numbers in the movements, until Yurio takes the ice.

He skates to Dance for Me Wallis, receiving a nerve-rackingly impressive score. Yurio's fraction of a point difference last season was what kept Yuuri from a gold medal, but this year he has the advantage of seeing what he's up against, and his short program score blows even Yurio's out of the park. Regardless, Yurio looks proudly into the camera, having beaten his personal best. He skates into Yakov's embrace and the shot cuts to the Kiss and Cry. After Yurio's ecstatic reaction and a short word of gratitude, the MC shifts the focus onto our final competitor.

"Yuuri has decided to change his free skate program for the final competition this season. A bold move-"

"And possibly a foolish one," the sub announcer intercedes.

"We have yet to be disappointed with a single one of his performances this season, despite his sudden change in coaches after the pre-season accident," the MC snaps back, as any fan would. I'm taken aback by his change of tone, given the impartial view required for such a position; but that's the type of fire Yuuri lights. Just like I once did. "I don't think we have a reason to doubt his decision now."

"He's changing his program?" Minako gasps.

"It is...a dangerous move," I concede, suddenly nervous. Even I never attempted to master two programs at once, in such a short span of time. _Just how much has Yuuri practiced behind the mask of a hiatus?_

When he steps onto the ice, his costume is different. Translucent aqua, frilled with navy and white. His body stops smack in the center, and there is a moment when he stares straight at the camera, straight into my eyes, in silence.

"Has he lost weight?" Minako comments. He has, for sure, and his hair has grown nearly to the length of Yurio's. It's tied up at the crown of his scalp with a navy band and the excess hangs freely, the way I preferred when I was young.

When the music starts, my heart drops.

It's our song.

"Sento una voce che piange lontano…"

"He's customized his performance to 'Stay Close to Me,' the music used in Victor's last competitive program and in their duet together in January back in Hasetsu," the MC gasps.

As I watch each jump, I know what he's done. He's skating our piece, for the both of us. He's skating his part, and he's skating mine. It's a duet, but he's mastered it as one.

"I'd never expect him to add such intense moves to the piece," the MC continues, "But neither does it detract from the finesse of his movements."

First his triple axel, then my toe loop. His spin combination, then mine. Halfway through, my mind goes blank. It's as if I'm there too, skating alongside him, innately performing the moves, thoughtlessly. I understand each muscle he's using, each angle he's taking, even before he does so, without watching. I can feel our synergy. He's transmitting it through these couple of inches and thousands of miles between us.

When he stumbles, I stumble. But we don't fall. We don't step out of sequence. We finish with flaws, but the performance is so smooth, so full of desirous passion, the crowd is with us the whole time. When the music comes to an end, our eyes are filled with tears. Our hands are in plain sight, our fingers adorned with our matching gold bands.

"He wore it," I whisper, but no one else is listening. Everyone in the room is caught up in the adrenaline of Yuuri's skating.

"Do you see that?" Lutz asks. The three congregate among themselves in an eerie meld of thinking, as if they shared a single mind. "Yuuri's crying out there."

Loop catches my eye. "Hey, Victor's crying too…"

The three grow quiet. Soon, the entire room grows quiet. Minami throws her arms around me, but offers no congratulations or condolence. We all have yet to hear the final results.

Yuuri bows to the crowd, unable to muster a smile. The Finnish MC seems to be going on about the technicalities of the piece, but I don't bother reading. I just focus on Yuuri, deciphering what emotions are in his heart at this moment. Once the audience has ceased showering the ice in bouquets and stuffed toys, Yuuri skates off the rink and heads over to the Kiss and Cry, meeting Yakov halfway there.

Yakov is expressionless, as he normally is with his older half of students, expecting everything and yielding little in exchange. He coached me the same way, and it made me strong. My heart was still only made of glass, but I never let him reach it, and he never tried.

When they sit down Yuuri's eyes are filled with tears again, his neck with salty sweat. We're all on edge now, waiting for the score. I squeeze Minako's hand, holding back tears, and the triplets lean on our backs.

"And the results...200.34 points! That makes Yuuri our gold medalist this season with an overall score of 321.23 points," the MC shouts with evident excitement. Yuuri squishes his head into the stuffed poodle between his legs, his entire body trembling. Yakov rubs his back, seemingly speaking words of congratulations. Everyone in the room cheers at the news, and that's when the tears spill from my eyes. I break down, releasing ugly, guttural noises.

"We won," I shout, and Minako embraces me again. "We...won…"

Hiroko comes over with a hot bowl of pork katsu, placing it gently on the table in front of me. I cover my eyes, rubbing away old tears before new ones can come to replace them.

"You both deserve it," she says, "You both worked so hard."

I look up at our mother, and remember where everything started. Here in Hasetsu, in the Nishigori Ice Castle rink, in Minako's ballet classes, and at home. Yuuri started this uphill battle before I came to push him to the top. I nod and thank her, holding the warm ceramic dish between my hands. I let it sit there for a moment, letting the smell tempt my empty stomach. Yuuri is beginning to collect himself too, rubbing his eyes vigorously and quietly murmuring to Yakov. The gold of his ring catches the light overhead and shines at the camera for a picturesque moment I can tell will turn into a gif; if not by one of his three #1 fans, then by close seconds.

"I…" Yuri sniffs as he speaks, "I'd like to thank Yakov for taking me under his wing like this. Without him I never would have come back this season. And...to the man at home...wait just a little bit longer…" he's almost choking on his tears, but I'm too shocked to reciprocate. I almost can't hear him. "Wait just a little longer, Victor. I'm coming home."

I dig my spoon into the bowl with a new, caustic hope I never could have wished for two months ago. Minako moves away in a comically exaggerated fashion.

"Did you hear that?!"

The pork katsu bowl disappears before our eyes so quickly that my stomach has trouble keeping up. I thank myself for never changing out of my spandex pajama pants and I lay the dish on the floor for Makkachin to clean.

"That boy...never ceases to surprise me."

I collapse beside my pup and he settles onto my protruding abdomen. Yuuri...is coming home.

[A/N: Yuuri is performing last in the free skate program, because he scored highest in the short program. Also: yes, that _is_ a reference to _The Graduate._ ]


	5. Chapter 5

I'm lying in bed when my phone buzzes and a notification lights up the screen. "You were tagged in a photo" it reads, but the thumbnail is too vague to make out. I click on it. It's a picture posted by Yuuri.

My eyes are drawn first to his glistening ring, but then I notice the focus of the photo is on another object. Between his fingers, held tightly, shines a red and white slip of paper boldly reading "Japan Airlines". The description reads " v-nikiforov: you'll be able to kiss gold soon". I don't know whether he means the medal or the man behind it, but I don't care. Yuuri is coming home. I reflexively curl up in bed, but instantly regret getting overly excited when pain shoots up my left leg.

I hold my kneecap with both palms, putting pressure at the center of the strain. It quickly subsides, but a dull ache remains. I search around the sheets aimlessly for my phone, the screen having darkened. The cold surface brushes against my fingertips and it lights up in my hand. I begin scrolling through my feed, distracting myself from the old wound.

Yurio has posted a photo of the podium, almost exactly as I expected. Yuuri stands proudly in the middle, his face lit up by a wry smile and red eyes, holding up the gold medal. Yurio stands to the left, smiling brightly to my surprise, holding his silver. To the right stands Phichit, against my predictions, a confident glimmer in his eyes. I had underestimated him.

Christophe also posted a photo, earlier than everyone else: a selfie from the Kiss and Cry.

"Ahh, that fall...one more season with these kids. Cheer for me!" it reads.

"Ahh," I release a defeated breath into the air. _We would both be getting to that point,_ I suppose. Still, Chris has the peace enough to smile. It brings a bittersweet feeling to my chest.

I decide to post something for a change, scrambling through the poorly taken photos of the television screen for a sharp image. I settle on a snap of Yuuri's spin combination, where he's working his way into a scorpion.

" sukeota3sisters" I write in the description, "I'm waiting for my gifs."

I smile at myself, remembering again that soon I won't rely on pictures. Very soon.

The date on the ticket was 4/3/2017.


	6. Chapter 6

The next two days pass in a daze. I wake up, do my physical therapy, get something in my stomach, and help out in the hot spring. Hiroko and Toshiya constantly remind me that I can take it easy, so whenever business is slow I find a place to sit in quiet. Generally Vicchan's shrine is a safe bet, so it has become a habit to burn a stick of incense and pray there, despite my inability to kneel as most visitors would.

I'm staring blankly at Vicchan's adorable photo, Makkachin lying beside me like a scaled mirror image of the deceased, when I hear shuffling feet approaching the shoji doors. They pause right outside, just long enough to suggest that the person has bowed, and the doors slide open.

"Victor."

The hairs on the back of my neck stand up at the sound of that familiar voice.

"Yuuri-"

"Isn't it a little disconcerting to pray at a grave that shares your name?" he asks. I spin around and look up into his bespectacled eyes, finding a hint of old self-consciousness.

"Y-yuuri," the tears spill over the rims of my lower eyelids. "Welcome home!"

He rushes over to me, kneeling to where I sit, and squeezes me in his tiny arms. He helps me stand up and doesn't let go.

"Yuuri, you're squishing me," I wheeze. His strength has grown, or maybe his outwardness, because he loosens his grip on me only slightly before pulling away.

"Victor...I missed you. So much. I knew these few months would be painful, but I had no idea how much I depended on you..."

I interrupt him with a quick kiss.

"Shh," I command emphatically, "It's okay."

He slowly loosens his grip and his hands find their way to my scalp. He rustles through my hair, examining its girth.

"You've gotten thinner," I mention before he could even consider a remark, "You almost feel like Yurio."

The comment seems to have triggered something inside him, because he plucks a hair.

"Hey now, I didn't want to say anything, but I don't think I can spare any of those," I cry, lifting both hands to head.

"Ah, sorry," he says, staring at the strand between his thumb and forefinger, "It's just...we get compared a lot now, Yurio and I. He's grown fonder of me, but our rivalry is stronger too."

"Like back when you both trained here," I offer, and he nods.

"We did a lot of ballet, and Lilia really pushed me to my limits. I'm a twenty four year old man, but she really did a number on me," he tries to laugh. I hold his shoulder, just because I crave his touch again. It seems to snap him out of the tangential justification. He shakes his head.

"But what about you? How have you been?"

I close my eyes, jamming my thumb into his shoulder blade. "Mentally, or physically?"

"Ouch," he laments, "Hey…"

"I've felt about seventy five times worse than that," I sigh, "But this moment...feels about a quintillion times better."

"Eh? A quintillion?"

I nod. "I've thought about it-a lot-since you posted the plane ticket. That was when the truth behind that Kiss and Cry hit me for real. It felt better than a million or a billion...I settled on quintillion. Anything more seemed overkill."

Yuuri laughs, collecting his stomach in his arms. "Victor...you feel different now."

"Well, I'm sure," I admit, "a little more sarcastic."

"I...have a present for you," he smirks, grabbing my arm and pulling me into the main room of the resort. Therein lie two modestly packed suitcases, one of which he quickly unzips the main compartment of, revealing the medal I last recall him holding up with raw red eyes. He lifts it in both hands, cradling it as if he's about to coronate me. I put my hands beneath his, not connecting with the cold reward before my lips can reach it.

"Victor! Yuuri!"

"Yes, mom?" Yuuri and I answer in unison. He looks at me in surprise, but I just shrug my shoulders. Hiroko giggles at her son's jealousy and carries out two pork katsu bowls, adorned with gold ribbons, handing one to each of us.

"My boys. You both deserve it. You've worked so hard."


	7. Chapter 7

Yuuri and I accept the bowls with gratitude, and I can tell it's taking every ounce of his self-control to keep the drool in his mouth. We carry them carefully onto the tatamis, sitting next to each other at a chabudai. As we start to eat, I realize just how comfortable the atmosphere has become. That, too, I'm grateful for. The idea that Yuuri had abandoned me, had moved on and given up on everything we had (as I admittedly had), feels like a foreign concept now. It almost makes me feel guilty, but I'm too preoccupied with the joy of his presence. _Cheesy_ , I know. As we eat I contemplate all of the things I've been waiting to tell him. All of the beans his family has spilled. All of the skeletons I found in his closet.

"This might upset you, but...I discovered something else while you were gone," I smirk menacingly at him.

"And what was that?" he wonders, his pupils shrinking.

I chuckle, "You know how mom let me stay in your room?"

I watch the wheels turning in his head, but it doesn't take long before his expression turns from skeptical to mortified.

"You didn't!" he shrieks.

"Oh, I did. I know I'm attractive, but I wouldn't spend so much money just for decorations. If you waited a couple years I could have given them to you for free."

He covers his face almost entirely, the heat of his blush emanating through his fingers. I want so badly to take a photo of him in this moment and hang _it_ on the wall.

"So cruel," he pouts through puffy cheeks, "prying out my fanboy past like that…"

"To be honest with you, you weren't very good at hiding it anyhow," I pat his back tenderly. He shakes his head, collecting caustic thoughts.

"I discovered plenty about you too," his face goes dark, sending shivers down my spine.

"That's okay, I'd rather not-"

"Tsar Vitya."

"Ahh, I want to cry," I claim. He rubs my back now, and the touch heats me up again. More than crying, I want to kiss him. Why does it feel as if we've been apart for years? Why does it feel so good to be able to touch him like this, when it's only been a single skating season? Did I become this attached to him, or is that just love?

"Do it, Tsar. Punish me."

" _What_ was that?" I whisper, but his eyes are set on mine, feigning stubbornness. "You're asking for it." I smack him on the lips, holding both his arms in my grip. He capitulates, to my surprise. I pull away, looking into his reactive eyes, then push back before he can speak. His torso muscles give way and we descend the few feet to the tatami mat, his back inches off the ground. I can't stay still like this, so I release his arms and massage his back, soaking in its build. He has gotten considerably smaller, but his body is still as hard as a rock. My tongue stops moving as I remember the growing pudge in my stomach and dreaded softening of my forearms that I have to come to terms with each night as I sulk in the springs.

He breaks the suction for a split second to tease me. "Distracted? I haven't had enough yet."

"G-god," I huff out, my entire body feeling hot. I finish the kiss gently, lifting us both back upright. He hasn't even finished his food.

"What's gotten into you?" I ask, pouring the remnants of my bowl into his. He looks pleased at the gesture.

"Sorry," he says, but his expression betrays his words, "I guess that let you in on just how much I missed you."


	8. Chapter 8

It warms my heart to watch Yuuri's tummy expand like a panda, even if it's just from the salt in the pork. It reminds me of the younger more innocent version of him, back when I chose when and when not it was time to punish him. Within a number of minutes the television lulls him to sleep where he slouches, and his body rolls onto my shoulder.

"What a kid," Mari says, picking up our bowls. I smile at her but let slip what thought next crosses my mind.

"Oh no, he's not," I sigh, then try to play it off without explanation, "Aha, nope nope _nope_."

She looks at me like I'm a maniac, but chuckles nonetheless. "I'm glad to see you're back, Victor."

'I was never gone' ...is what I'd like to say. But she's right.

"I'm glad to be back," I nod. She brings me a shot of vodka and I thank her, though it disappears before she steps away from the chabudai (per usual), and she pours me another.

Once the second is gone I lose interest in the soccer game on television. Yuuri shows no signs of waking either, probably due to jet lag and a full stomach, so I rise slowly from my position, supporting his weight with my legs, and hoist him into my arms.

Yesterday, climbing the stairs felt like a challenge. I was lifeless, drained of energy without a purpose, even with the anticipation of Yuuri's arrival. But now that he's here, even as dead weight in my arms, I can climb the stairs weightlessly. I tuck him into his bed, bringing the sheets up to his chin, having kept it warm for him all this time.

His face is peaceful. I wonder what dreams he's crafted up inside of that mysterious brain. I watch him noiselessly snore for a moment, turning on the electric heater before walking back down to the resort to help prepare for the dinner rush.

"Don't forget," Hiroko says once I step behind the bar, motioning to the staff restroom. I tell her not to worry, reassuringly shaking my head. After serving drinks, washing plates, and focusing aimlessly into space for the majority of rush hour, I stay true to my word and head to the restroom. Behind the mirror lies a concealed medicine cabinet, in which lies the dreaded daily pill case that keeps me on both feet. I feel even older having to be reminded often to take my medication, but such things can't be helped; I'm just not used to inhabiting such an unhealthy body, and I've never had to regularly take drugs in my life. I fill a dixie cup with water from the tap and down the pills.

At long last, it's time to climb those stairs again. My feet smack the hard word happily and painlessly, reaching the top and nearly sprinting through the frigid hallway. I rip off my kimono and snuggle up next to Yuuri, turn the heater off, and sleep sweetly through the night.


	9. Chapter 9

When morning comes, I'm alone as usual. _That isn't right, though_. I slept next to Yuuri last night, I'm sure of it. I had...two shots of vodka. _I wasn't drunk,_ I assure myself, _he was here_.

"Yuuri!" I call from the bed, rubbing my knees upright.

"Yes?" he shouts back from the hall downstairs, and the sound of his voice soothes my nerves. My phone reads "8:05". I know if he were going to morning practice, he'd be gone already.

"Come help me up," I groan.

"Coming."

His socked feet hurry eagerly up the wooden staircase. _So cute_ , I can't help but think. When he catches my expression from the doorway, he stops beaming.

"Does it hurt?" he asks. I remember the first time he asked that, but it's not like that now.

"Not particularly," I assure him, "They're just out of synch, you know? They don't listen."

Yuuri offers both hands and I reach for them. He grips my wrists, wrapping his thumbs beneath my palms to support me. I'm on my feet in a flash, and the sudden rush of blood leaves me lightheaded.

"Yuuri," I sigh, closing my eyes to stop the spinning, "Why are you home?"

"You called me," he smiles shyly, "So I'm sure you've speculated."

I open my eyes, feeling like an old man. "Are you going to keep skating?"

"Of course," he states without hesitation. His vigor relieves me, but my question still stands.

"Then I'll ask again: why are you home?"

"Don't decide to be such a good coach now," he laughs, "Because if you're going to do that I think it's time."

"For?"

He hands me my daily pill box. I open up the compartment labelled "M", and it's full of capsules.

"For more pills?" I try to look positive, but I'm filled with an upsetting uncertainty about his intentions. "Ahh, I feel old," I accidentally relay my thoughts to him.

"No, Victor. Those vitamins...are because it isn't time to give up. What on earth have you been doing?"

A cold sensation arrests my chest. I'm ashamed, but that's selfish.

"Eating pork katsu bowls...ramen...and vodka," I want to play it off comically, but it just isn't funny.

"And where are you getting your vitamin C?" he asks. I nod my head to the side. "D? E? Your iron? Magnesium?"

"Yuuri," I want him to stop, "I already feel bad...please…"

"Victor. You're coming with me," he picks out the lot of horse pills, shoving them into my hand, "You're going to skate again, and you're going to be my coach."

I stare him down. _Shit...was yesterday his way of buttering me up?_

"You're shitting yourself," I swear, hurt at the suggestion. No matter the amount of hope he has, the optimism he grasps. It ended for me. It took a month or two for me to accept that that portion of my life, the hobby and career that I dedicated everything in me to, was over...so the suggestion that it could be salvaged threw me into denial.

"I wish I could, Victor. But it's impossible without you. All I could think of was you, and I hated myself for it. For leaving you, and for not being able let go."

I want to stay quiet, but everything spills out.

"Yuuri...I love you, but...how do you think I felt? No...I'm sure you have thought about that. I'm sorry...it's just, I put on a strong face, you know? But waking up and going to bed everyday without you, and without skating...what did I have? I asked myself, 'what do I live for?' And I forced myself to accept it. That I lived to wait."

"No," he lifts my chin up and smiles, "You're wrong. You're going to skate again, even if we can't spin again. Even if we can't do our axels or loops, lutzes, or flips. We'll skate together again, and you'll be my coach again."

I look through him speechlessly. His eyes could light a fire.

So could his skin, red as flames.

"So...accept that. Please."

He spins around and hurries back downstairs, his socked feet thumping against the hardwood floor.

 _Buttering successful._ I take the pills.


	10. Chapter 10

I wish I had studied more Kanji in the past four months as I attempt to decipher the ingredients in the stir fry recipe.

Yuuri clicks his tongue to the sound of the knife hitting the cutting board after every chop. Carrots, zucchinis, onions, and mushrooms collect in a huge wok he has set aside for me, and as the piles grow he begins his monotonous lecture regarding the importance of each vegetable. Long ago I mastered the art of well-timed nodding, adding in a few 'oohs' and 'ahs' here and there. He doesn't seem to entirely buy the act, but neither does he insist on my repetition of the nutritional lesson. Nonetheless he seems to be enjoying himself, wallowing in his own abundance of knowledge.

"Here," he clicks the gas on, igniting the burner, "take it in your hand and just shake it lightly like this. I'm going to boil the udon."

"Alright," I agree and he passes the wooden handle to me, shaking it one final time just slightly above the cage of the burner. Before leaving for the pantry he plucks out a huge chunk of raw zucchini, pushing it through my lips.

"They maintain even more of their nutrients when eaten raw, so don't be shy," he grins at me before closing the door behind him. I stand there chewing like a camel, one hand holding the wok and the other keeping our place in the cookbook.

"Udon, udon, where are you?" he sings, pretending to be searching for the common ingredient.

"Mmph!" I whimper, the end of the strip beginning to escape from my lips.

"Okay, okay, I'm coming," he giggles. He inches his head back inside the kitchen for a second, catching a glimpse of my struggle, and breaks down laughing.

"Ish not hunny," I claim, catching the zucchini between my teeth, but even I'm not convinced by the ridiculous suggestion and my lips curl into an uncontrollable grin, releasing the veggie onto the tiled floor. Yuuri dives to catch it, but only ends up missing and smashing his chin into the ground.

"Yuuri!" I shriek, but neither of us can break the laughter. He collects himself slowly, grabbing hold of my sweatpant leg and forcing his flaccid body into a standing position. When I can breathe again, I grab a medium sized pot hanging on the overhead rack.

"I'll start the water," I say, feeling more confident in my ability to boil noodles than anything else. He nods, taking hold of the wok and closing the cookbook, which only now do I realize is apparently extrapolous in the making of an average stir fry for Yuuri.

"Don't salt the water," he says, somehow reverting back to the nutritional rambling, "alcohol and meat has enough sodium to raise your blood pressure, so adding extra salt to the udon-"

"Here we go again," I snicker.

"Victor, listen up!" he pouts, not standing for any of my baseless complaints.

"Yes sir," I reply.

Makkachin has snuck his way into the kitchen and begun cleaning up the floor between my legs, and the two of us accept the influx of nutritionism as the udon and veggies fill the air with a sweet aroma.

When the udon is finished I strain it and Yuuri pours it into the veggies, letting it soak up the teriyaki marinade. He turns off the gas, stirring the wok with a wooden spoon and pointing me in the direction of the big white serving bowls. He serves me, then himself, and we take our dishes out into the main room, settling onto two nearby cushions.

"Carrots are for-"

"Vitamin A!" I chime in to Yuuri's fact spitting, begrudgingly having memorized through repetition.

"Very good, Victor!"

"Your praising makes me feel even more conflicted about my age," I admit facetiously.

"Zucchinis for-"

"Vitamin C!" we recite.

"Oi!" Mari chastises us, "You're disturbing the customers!"

"Sorry," Yuuri whispers, "We'll keep it down." She noogies him as a form of thanks shaking his glasses into a crooked position. To appear unfazed he leaves them where they lie, so I fix them back onto the bridge of his nose.

"Oi, waitress! I don't see udon stir fry on the menu!" a familiar soccer-loving old man yells from across the room.

"Oji-san-" Mari sets off barefootedly across the tatami mats, leaving us alone again.

"Mushrooms are filled with-"

"Minerals!" we whisper with giggly undertones.

"Udon is a-"

"Macronutrient!"

Yuuri pauses the chanting to scoop up some of the marinated noodles with his chopsticks and lift them to my mouth. I open wide, slurping them up with enthusiasm. The entire meal he continues to explain the optimum diet for my full recovery. As time goes by the mood shifts from lighthearted and comical to somewhat serious, just by the evident thoroughness of his thought process.

"We have six months to prepare for next season," Yuuri reminds me somberly, "Even if you can coach me the way things are now, I don't want you leaving Japan in such an unhealthy condition."

"Yuuri," I frown, playing with the veggies with my chopsticks, "I'm fine and you know it. I'm not in athletic straits, but that's not what a coach is for. I'm not there to compete with you; I'm there to cheer you on."

"No amount of cheering will motivate me if I have to worry about whether or not you're healthy. I know this is only the beginning of the year, but...please Victor. Start thinking about yourself."

His genuine concern for me is starting to make me depressed.

"Tomorrow I've got to get back to physical training, in some form. I'm not letting Yakov's influence go to waste," Yuuri says. His sudden shift of interest bothers me, but I'm sure it's intentional. He's getting to me by implying that my coaching was not as strict as my predecessor's.

I nod, hurt as I am, picking up a noodle from the bowl and biting it off.

"You're coming," he smirks menacingly.

"Hm?" I mutter.

"Minako-sensei...can whip us both into shape," he smiles, reaching into my nearly empty bowl for another noodle.

"Now wait a minute, Yuuri, we aren't nearly on the same playing fie-"

"Shh, shh, don't be so pessimistic," he cuts me off, "a coach has to set a good example. Have confidence in yourself, Victor!"

It's _gross_ being on this end of the encouragement.

"The reality is getting to me," I sigh.

"Good," he smiles, picking up his empty bowl. "Get a good night's sleep, Victor. Because tomorrow it begins again."

"Yuuri!" I shout before he can enter the kitchen.

"Yes-"

"That's my line."

He pauses, grabbing his baggy T-shirt where the next gold medal will hang. "Right."


	11. Chapter 11

When we arrive at Minako's studio, she greets us at the door. It's refreshing to see her in such a sober state, her hair tied back into a loose bun and a light layer of makeup highlighting her features. She guides us into the center room of the building. It looks all but deserted, a thin blanket of dust coating the support bars on the wall and the shelves piled with yoga mats.

"I wasn't kidding when I said we hardly get any kids these days," she admits, forcing a smile, "It's only gotten worse since last year. We don't really have a use for the second and third rooms in the studio, so it seemed like a waste to keep them clean. I don't know how long you two plan to train here, but if you'd like to come back this room is all yours."

"M-minako-sensei," Yuuri murmurs with a sad intonation, "Thank you so much!"

She smiles brightly at us, the mood immediately lifted. "You're welcome, kid! Anything for you and your hot Russian boyfriend, as long as I can watch!"

Both of our faces explode in red simultaneously, but no utterances of fraudulent denial are spoken.

"Now go get dressed!" she shouts enthusiastically, "No time to waste!"

I try to enter the bathroom with Yuuri, but he denies me at the door.

"But-"

"No peeking at my muscles until they're in action," he says, closing the space between us.

"Phew," I whisper with an intentional loudness in my throat, "At least now I know we aren't drifting apart."

When we finish getting dressed into dry-fit tights and shirts, Minako is waiting for us by an old-fashioned green chalkboard, having taken the time to draw our faces in the cutest (yet most childish) style I can imagine.

"Do I really have an ahoge?" Yuuri asks, bringing his hands to his scalp.

"A little bit today," Minako smiles, taking the yellow stick of chalk in her hand and extending the tiny hair on the caricature even further at the comment. Then she reveals the plan she's construed for the day. "When bodies can't withstand intense or extended pressure in a target muscle, I create a specialized program for them. Clearly it wouldn't do Victor any good to practice pointe technique, or try anything funny with his knee. Even putting indirect force on it for too long can cause him pain, so the best course of action would be to try a variety of exercises for short sessions, without breaking in between."

Yuuri grins. "Sounds intense."

"Oh yea," Minako nods, "You _both_ will have a lot of fun."

He goes a little wide-eyed after that, as if the flashbacks from Lilia's ballet class are coming back. At least I can take comfort in the fact that we're both apprehensive.

"Yuuri, you go warm up," Minako directs.

"Yes, sensei," he answers, grabbing a blue mat from the rack and spreading it on the ground.

"Victor, what kind of physical therapy have you been doing?" she asks me.

"It's been mostly ROM and bearing weight at this point," I tell her, unashamedly. Too much too fast can destroy my chances at achieving a full range of motion in the future, and we're both aware of it. _Especially at my age,_ I remind myself, frustrated.

"To warm up, practice bending. This session will focus mainly on flexibility until you feel more comfortable bearing weight while bent, so don't get worked up about it for now."

I want to feel comforted by her words, and they've served the purpose she had in mind, but the word 'flexibility' triggers a whole different set of anxieties in my mind.

I breathe out deeply, suppressing any other thoughts and putting on my old positive face. "Okay."

Before either of us can break a sweat, Minako calls us back to the front of the room to tell us that it's time for the timed exercises. Below each of our drawn faces she's written positions for each of us.

"Yuuri should be doing more advanced exercises now, so I've given him some of my least favorite yoga poses, with cardio interspersed," she explains. He seems to slouch over for effect, but her face remains unphased.

"Victor isn't getting a break either," she continues, redirecting my eyes to the board, "You'll be doing side splits, sit ups, right hopping, and hooping. The idea of this program is that you won't have time to wear out one muscle before moving to another, and then you'll continue the cycle. Forty seconds for each move or exercise, with ten second breaks in between. Generally that's shortened to a 2:1 ratio, but you boys aren't working on that level of intensity today. Now…I wanna see some muscles!"

Halfway through the spheal her tough-guy act devolves back into a fangirl-like proposal. Personally, it riles me up enough to know what athletic build I still have is enough to get her excited. Yuuri and I agree to the conditions and get to work.

[A/N: ahoge – Japanese term for "stupid hair", in anime commonly a hair that sticks up in the back or on the side of one's head]


	12. Chapter 12

Yuuri's stomach thrusts into the air, exposing his belly button. The form of his bridge is enviously perfect, but I'm more impressed by the sheer muscle that his entire body has become. I knew he was thinner, and I knew that when we slept beside each other that it nearly felt like sleeping next to stranger, but seeing his polished abs stretch freely into such a flexibility based position… _makes forcing my soft and tender thighs into a split feel like slicing through butter._

Yuuri catches my glance as I use his figure as a final encouragement, and it looks as though he's found something within my eyes.

"That's it," he says, "That's _it!_ It's time. What do you think, sensei?"

"You have a good eye, Yuuri," Minako agrees, not bothering to look our way as she stretches over her split.

"What?" I beg, out of breath and dreading whatever else he has in mind after this torture-fest of a workout, "What's it time for?"

"So, Victor, wouldn't you agree you'd rather be doing anything else but tabata yoga right now?" he inquires slyly.

I hesitate for a moment, my legs nearly closing in by themselves, "...no."

"But just about, right?" he asks again without a moment passing between us.

"Yes...yes, just tell me," I cry. My legs have begun their slow dehingement. I look up into his eyes again, but suddenly he's gone from tantalizing to weary. He raises his right arm throws his weight over his left shoulder, practically jumping from a bridge into a downward dog position.

"Ahh, Minako...I can't do it," his voice comes out weak.

"Don't chicken out now!" she shouts, unaltered by his defeated tone of voice.

"...right. Victor, we're going on the ice."

In what seems like the blink of an eye, Yuuri has dragged me into my nightmare. The broad expanse of ice lies only inches from my feet. I've developed a deep fear of its very presence in this town for the past few months, mostly as a result of the accident that occurred at Ice Castle, but also because my feet have been drawn back to this place every time I liberate them. Whenever I go out, whether it's to pick up groceries, clear my head, or just stretch my legs with Makkachin, somehow my feet bring me to the steps of this palace, and its atmosphere nearly draws me in each time. The idea that I've deliberately come here seems to me as if I've willingly dug my own grave, and tying on my skates is like I've jumped into it.

Yuuri comes over to the bench and sits next to me, taking the protectors off of his skates and throwing his jacket over the side of the rink. His movements are already notably smoother and quicker than mine, routine having set his nuclei into a pattern. He pauses, taking a long look at my face.

"Don't be nervous," he suggests, "I won't let go of you."

He squats down to take the blade protectors off of my skates and my body goes numb at the realization that this is happening, regardless of my level of discomfort. He lowers my feet individually to the solid concrete ground, and then kisses my skates. My body goes even stiffer then, the fear of falling and love mixing together into one horrid adrenalized being. If I taught him one thing, it's that half of what you can do on the ice depends on what's in your heart. If you can condition yourself to love the adrenaline of fear, your heart will never pull you down.

He steps straight onto the ice, making his way around the perimeter several times, forward and then backwards, focusing weight on each foot deliberately, warming himself up. A minute or so passes and he comes back to where I sit at the entrance, motioning for me to stand. I obey, crawling my way toward the swung open door.

"You ready?" he whispers. I look into his sobering eyes, conveying my true feelings inadvertently, though they were no secret.

He takes my hands so gently, his fingertips warm. Still, I can feel the strength behind his hold, and it gives me enough confidence to glide onto the ice slowly without nervously stumbling. We skate for a several minutes, almost comfortably, while he holds me captive like that. My feet almost feel like they used to, like they've found a rhythm hidden in our breaths and want desperately to keep up and dance away with us.

"You got it," he assures me, attempting to loosen his grip. I immediately grab him back tightly in fear, my legs sliding together. With cat-like reflexes he supports my weight, connecting with me at the forearms.

"Victor," he hisses out worriedly. All belonging dissipates within me instantly. The air of rink feels unusually cold on my eyes and lips. Then my legs and arms begin to fidget uncontrollably, as if a chill has set into can see everything, like an experienced coach, and throws my arm over his shoulder. Silently, he guides me off the ice.

I'm so ashamed of myself. A man who used to coach, who used to toot his own horn and kiss his own gold medals, now can't even skate in a straight line without the support of a man he once built up himself. On top of that, I know it's my pride speaking, my conceit resisting his attempts to comfort me, and it makes everything feel worse.

"Hey," Yuuri interrupts my thoughts, and I remember that this part of me once belonged more naturally to him. He brushes my hair from my eyes the way I once hated, but his touch is sobering now. "Stop that. You can do it, so stop resisting. Imperfection is better than giving up altogether, isn't it?"

I nod. If I denied that, I would never have coached Yuuri, and I would never be able to kiss gold again. _I want that._

"Let's go back," I say seriously and with an unprecedented determination. He stands and reaches for my hands without hesitation, helping me stand.

When I step onto the ice, my brain sets itself back into flight mode. My legs wobble, but I won't go back. Yuuri doesn't let me go this time; he interlocks our fingers, trusting that I'll force myself into balance.

"You know the ice," he says, "it's the biggest part of you. Your feet know how it feels better than they do solid ground. Nothing has changed about that. You have to let yourself go."

The air gets warmer with his positive affirmations. My legs lock-my skates slip along as if on a magnetic track. He releases one of my hands unexpectedly, swinging to my side, innately aware of my self-assurance.

"Yuuri," I call out tensely, not taking my eyes off of the ice in front of me, " _Don't_ let go."

"Okay," he replies emotionlessly, maintaining the sudden calmness with me, "we're going to go a little faster. Hold on."

I wouldn't dare try anything else. His left foot flows forward, then his right. I match his movements instinctively, succeeding at taking the curves of the rink with ease.

"Victor, look at that," he smiles, focusing on our feet in an innocent admiration. I regrettably follow his line of vision, catching sight of my own two feet on the slippery terrain.

We're already on the straightway when my back breaks the fall.

"Ahh, it happened," Yuuri laments, looking down at me from the side. I check them, but there's no mistaking it. _My hands are empty._ He circles around me, setting his skates on either side of my body and reaching down for my arms.

"They were cold, Victor. In that last moment, I knew we were going down," he grabs me and I stand up.

"I'm okay," I say, relieved but not surprised.

"Mm," he nods, beaming at me encouragingly, "you are."

A second wind hits me. _I'm okay._

"Let's go again."


	13. Chapter 13

The weeks press on, skating together gingerly like that for a short period each day.

I know of the practice that Yuuri is sneaking out for alone, but I'm not sure he's aware of mine. Every other night a new adrenalized insomnia plagues me, and I throw on those tight fitting yoga pants. Even the nights are exceptionally humid now, unlike any weather in Russia, so I frequent the same sets of exercise outfits during these secret excursions.

I had to convince Yuuko and Takeshi to let me onto the ice past midnight like this, in the end coercing them through sheer will. They only turn on the low lights, bright enough to see the ice but dim enough to be hidden from curious passerbys. The silhouetted figure that dances there is a beautiful phantom left to bask even in my own imagination.

It's an "other" night tonight, but Yuuri hasn't returned from his evening practice yet. At eight o'clock we're usually together, bathing or eating dinner, getting ready for a certain sleeping pattern. The triplets are over, watching a televised domestic skating program with Minako in the main room, when Hiroko kicks me out of the kitchen.

"Who's on?" I ask to close the space between myself and the girls. As I sit down they rattle off the names of some of those truly "dime-a-dozen" Japanese skaters, and I watch them perform with a sense of unimpeded longing nonetheless. Before the first commercial break hits I can hear a car door slam outside the resort.

"Mama's here," Lutz whispers to Axel, Loop having fallen asleep on her lap. Yuuko runs in wearing a strapless dry fit dress, assumedly straight from the rink.

"Come on you three," she says sweetly, freeing Lutz from Loop's unconscious grasp and holding the sleeping child in her arms. The two run out into the heat of the night, racing each other to the car. Yuuko lags behind, making sure that her daughter's sleep is undisturbed, and greets me.

"There's a package for you," she says, brushing Loop's hair lovingly to the side of her face, "Yuuri's holding it at the rink. I don't know what it is, so I can't tell you what to expect...but he seems to be excited."

"O-okay," I nod, flustered by the unexpected change in our regular schedule.

"I'll see you there," she smiles racing into the heat, "Thank you for watching them, Minako! Hiroko!"

 _A package for me? From Yuuri?_ I can't help but be filled with excitement. A present from Yuuri...what could it be? I don't want to get overly enthusiastic, but my brain goes into euphoric overdrive.

"You're all red," Hiroko smiles at me, her dimples showing. I wonder if she knows what the mystery is.

"No kidding?" I exclaim in genuine abashment.

"You'd better get going," she nods, "the rink closes soon. To Yuuri, at least."

"Kaasan!" I complain without thinking, the crimson in my cheeks maintaining pertinence. I haven't called her mom since Yuuri came back, but in the times when he's not her, I revert back to what I grew used to.

"You can't keep a secret from a mother," she says with her characteristic unwavering jubilance, "Now go on, he's waiting for you."

Running in 80° weather under a starry summer sky has never felt so easy. I can't stop thinking about Yuuri holding a present there for me, a brown cardboard airmail box all tied up in zipties like a wrapped present on my birthday.

"Yuuri got me a present!" I sing out once I know I'm alone in uncontrollable anticipation, "Podarok!"

Impatiently I count the steps I take in galloping strides during the second half of the journey to the rink. At _eight hundred twenty-seven_ , I take the first step of Ice Castle's stairs. I stop counting, sprinting to the top with whatever stamina is left in my body.

Yuuko greets my panting frame from the reception desk, pointing towards the locker room with a grin on her face. I amble in glancing from wall to wall, but nothing is out of place. There's no cardboard box wrapped in zipties. Yuuri comes in quickly, taking notice of my sweaty, confused figure.

"Late!" he says teasingly, grabbing my shoulder with his free arm. Behind his back he holds the package in anticipation.

"What is this about a present?" I inquire breathily, reaching behind him to no avail. He holds it farther away, snickering. I reach over and over, like a cat chasing a fish, and he finally lets me grab it. It's relatively light, something bouncing around slightly from within the packaging.

"Don't guess," he smiles, lowering to the carpet. I join him. "Open it."

I rip through it in mere seconds, revealing a case of stiff mesh fabric. I lift it out of the box, seeing the entire appearance of the article, its size and shape identifying it immediately.

"Oh my god," I lift one hand to my mouth, a hot lump collecting suddenly in my throat, "How did you...Yuuri, a knee brace…Yuuri!"

He reaches over to my quivering shoulders, rubbing them comfortingly. "Show me what you've been hiding," he whispers into my ear while I'm at the brink of tears. I let them out.

"I love you," I whisper back, letting myself bawl in excitement and graditude. I start to immediately strap on the brace and Yuuko brings out my skates for Yuuri to tie onto my feet. After several minutes I wipe my face down and collect myself, taking a few of the prepared supply of tissues from Yuuri's jacket pocket. We stand up from our emotional curl on the locker room floor. The Nishigoris are waiting in the stands of the rink, when Yuuri and I enter like skater and coach, roles reversed.

"I love you too," he hums, pushing me onto the ice. I set free there, loosening up my sore, rigid wings. _But it isn't quite time to fly._


	14. Chapter 14

After skating with my new knee brace, Yuuri asks me if he can help me with physical therapy for the first time. In all honesty, relearning how to skate has taken priority over my old routine, so I'm sure even before we start that it'll be exceptionally difficult. My old ROM moves are oddly specific, focusing on bending the knees into naturally easy positions that grow difficult with lack of practice, like sitting with both calves to the sides of one's thighs-in a "W" position-and then stretching your back to the floor.

Regardless, I'm grateful for the offer and take him up on it. We wait until we're back home, and within the privacy of Yuuri's bedroom, before starting the therapy. I give him a brief explanation of the poses and how he can help-that is, mainly by pushing my muscles into the positions they belong, much like athletes help each other stretch before practice. We start with basic things, but it's like my knee has forgotten how to communicate with my brain again. Yuuri ends up pushing it along with a lot of his own force, though I'm sure he's hardly even realizing it with the biceps he's sporting. My face is already in a perpetual wince throughout the first few minutes, but once we start intermediate positions it's hard to resist his pushes or hold back suppressed grunts.

"Hngh," I let out, following it up with "shit," at my abdication of composure.

"I...didn't think you'd have this much pain," he admits, letting up a bit. "Have you taken your medicine?"

"I…" I pause. _Have I?_ I rushed out of the resort so fast earlier that I didn't even have time to consider it.

He pushes back down in agitation. " _Vic_ tor."

"Oh, _whoa,_ " I respond to the sudden change in pressure. He begins to loosen the muscles again, pulling them back into a straight angle. I sigh in relief, but the same breath soon evolves into a moan-like expression as his fingers message my left knee in the smoothest, sweetest way.

" _Yuuri_ _,_ " I sing out, "Where the heck...did you learn this?"

He just smiles at me, keeping the secret. The variety of intentions he's been hiding behind those smiles baffles me, but I don't press him for information. I can't risk the chance that he might stop to answer me…

His fingers soothe away the pain in the most complete way possible, and I almost forget that this is for therapy, not pleasure. He finishes just as the bliss starts to make me sleepy.

"That's enough for today, right?" he smiles.

"No," I smile back, my eyes focused on his innocent, oblivious expression. I sit up, the pain inexistent, and latch onto hisunprepared lips. _This is it_ _,_ I realize as we kiss, my lips curling uncontrollably with glee, _I've finally broken through his brick hard facade_. We move onto the bed after a minute or so on the floor like that, throwing the covers over our mufti-clad bodies. I missed this comfortable, dominating sensation over him. Somehow his hot blood, his sudden independence, had thrown me for a loop. He'd confused the hell out of me with all that "tsar" talk, turned me into the receiver rather than the dealer, but tonight the tables will turn, even if it's only my sudden painlessness that catalyzed the mood. Tonight I make the rules again.

"Who's your coach?" I ask, releasing him for a moment to discern his features under the darkness of the sheets.

"You're my coach, Victor," he says, passion thick in his voice and eyes. I'll never let him go again. Not alone.


	15. Chapter 15

My phone buzzes blaringly from the nightstand, but Yuuri's consistent breaths on my neck don't falter. I reach over carefully, attempting not to disturb his sleep and keeping my back flat. Yuuko's face pops up on screen, for the first time I think it ever has. In fact, the only reason I have her contact or she has mine is in case of emergency. I answer in a jolt of panic, assuming this must be the case now at one o'clock in the morning.

"Yuuko? Are you okay?" I whisper, concern in my voice. The only response I get for several seconds are hurried gasps and I can tell she's crying on the other end.

"I'm-" she begins to speak, but is cut off by her own sobbing.

"Yuuko, what's wrong? Did something happen?" I'm about to wake up Yuuri when her hurried explication stops me.

"Victor...it's about you," she wails, "My daughters, they...god...this is so difficult…"

My chest stays tight, anxious of what she'll say next. What about the girls? Did they get hurt? Or is it something worse?

"Yuuko, calm down," I say as softly as I can, trying to soothe her nerves, "Take a deep breath and tell me what happened."

"They-" she inhales deeply, then exhales defeatedly, "They posted a video. I'm sorry...I wanted to tell you before anyone else...I'll take it down as soon as I can if you want me to, but it's already gotten articles written about it, so I don't know how much good that'll do. Victor, I'm so sorry...I don't know what to do...they didn't mean to do all this…"

Her rambling makes me nervous, and I wonder what on earth could have gotten her this shaken up so early in the morning.

"What's the video of?" I ask, struggling to keep my voice from sounding demanding.

"...I'll send you the link. I'm sorry, I want you to see it. Please watch it," she exhales a huge, shuddering breath again.

"Alright," I sigh, closing my eyes in the already darkened room. Yuuri still spoons me from behind, sleeping like a baby, and his presence reminds me that whatever has happened can't hurt me now. "Please get some sleep, Yuuko. Whatever it is, you're already forgiven. I can't get angry with you."

I tried to comfort her with those words, but she seems to grow more upset, sobbing again.

"I'm sorry," she cries, "I'll send you the link now. Goodbye…"

"Bye," I hang up the phone, opening my eyes to wipe the oils from the screen. Several minutes pass and I almost forget about the call, resting my back again Yuuri's body and letting consciousness slip away.

My phone buzzes.

I click on the url in Yuuko's text and the video instantaneously overrides the screen.

"[Victor Nikiforov] Trying On My New Knee Brace" the title dictates. The video plays without my permission, before I have the heart to click away. Miniature me opens the package excitedly, like a child on their birthday, as if its wrappings were what separated me from living my life out the way I am now and the way I used to dream. The girls, their videography skills only now becoming apparently comparable to their fangirling skills, zoom the focus onto my alit eyes and shining face. I'm crying from joy. From this fraction of me that was now released into the world, I appeared to have completely recovered from my recent depressive state. I touch my forehead, examining my own nerves. Hypothesizing the improvements that would not have come if Yuuri hadn't first. The video goes on to show me performing my first low spiral, knee brace on, Yuuri mirroring me with a fierce hold on my upper forearm. When I watch us, it feels fantastic. It feels like watching us in our duet again, synchronizing, synergy flowing through our veins. In reality, the screen portrays two beginners: skating in a circle, performing spirals, cutting to my constant T stops. The girls have even entered in their cute little commentary, drawing arrows to my feet when I revert back to professional habits.

"Victor, be careful!" one says. Another, "Omg, look how clean~" and "Watch out Katsuki, your competition is back". I laugh a bit, but deep down it hurts to watch. All the optimism has fired up the fans, but no matter how comfortable I become on the ice again, I'll never go back into competing. Immediately I search up the articles Yuuko mentioned.

I click on the first that I find, the title reading "Is Nikiforov's next hurdle 2020 Tokyo?" Without reading I comment, assured already of its speculative claims. "Sorry everyone, I only skate for fun now. Please keep cheering for Katsuki, I'll be waiting there beside the rink in 2020."

I turn the screen off, reaching to place my phone back on the nightstand. It falls onto the floor instead, and Yuuri finally tosses.

"What was that?" he groans.

"Nothing," I feign a groan in return, turning my back to the wall. He turns too, switching into a more comfortable position with our roles reversed. I wrap my arms around him and we fall back asleep.


	16. Chapter 16

There were days before Yuuri came home when I lacked the strength to get out of bed. My legs wouldn't move when I told them to, or I lacked the will to force my knee into submission and gave up altogether. Around noon, a family member would come up and turn on the lights. They'd bring my medicine and some sort of meal, but they soon learned never to try and make conversation. Those days were the darkest days of my life, darker than any sunless winters in Russia. I was utterly helpless and alone, uncertain of any known certainties. I didn't believe the sun would come up again, or my legs would carry me under the immense pressure of my own despair. It sounds dramatic and depressing and entirely unlike me, but that made it all the worse to deal with when it suddenly and unexpectedly struck.

Those days were supposed to be limited to that finite span of time. They were supposed to only happen in my winter solitude. But this morning, a few months since the sun has settled itself proudly and permanently into the sky, my legs won't move. Pain shoots through me like venom, paralyzing everything. I knew this bout of emotional turmoil would explode at one point or another...when things around me change so violently, my sensitive personality can turn a bit volatile. I know exactly what set it off, though I'd never solely blame the straw-or three straws in this scenario-that broke the camel's back. This venom has been building up, just as steadily as the recent return of joy.

Amidst my inner contemplation and melancholy the shutters suddenly open, the instant spotlight blinding my tender eyes.

"Victor," Yuuri pouts, holding the strings at the window, "You're not going to leave me waiting all day."

I didn't hear his footsteps, so his appearance is as unexpected as the sunshine itself. He's standing above my prostrate figure now, not pitying me, but looking down at my red face with concealed irritation. He looks just like me, back when I scolded him for not trusting his own decisions months ago.

"Let's go out," he says, lying next to me in bed. _He's different from me, though_. Yuuri really isn't selfish like I am. He isn't ripping me away; he's forcing that task onto my own heavy conscience.

"You're right," I admit, still not able to imagine tying up my skates today.

"Let's go watch the seagulls," he says.

Relieved from the anxiety of staying isolated in one place, my arms and legs can move again. It's not an easy thing to admit that they depend on some worldly variable to start up, like a car runs on gas. But it doesn't get me down-I'm too tired to feel down. The image of the black-tailed seagulls flashes in my mind, the sound of their cries drowning out the sound of mine.

The drive to the shoreline is short and silent. It's cooler out by the edge of the waves, but the breeze is still rather warm and enveloping. I remember the first time Yuuri and I sat here, on an early autumn morning, back when it was my turn to give a pathetic pep talk. Our love was still brand new to Yuuri back then, still an embarrassing emotion to admit. He tried to avoid me in order to hide his self-doubt, but I knew the whole while how strong he was. When I look at him now all I see is that strength, and it pains me to admit the uneasiness that still tugs at my heart because of it.

"Don't ignore me like I ignored you," he says, resting his head onto my shoulder. It's warm, and heavy, and I never want it to leave that place. I throw my arms around his body, preventing this conversation from becoming a repetition of the past.

"I don't need to hide my shortcomings from you," I grin, soaking in his build through the nerves in my fingers, "because I'm not weak, Yuuri. I'm not weak and I know it. But everything is frustrating when your destiny suddenly seems to change right in front of your face like that. You know that feeling, don't you?"

"Yes," he frowns, remembering how it felt all the way at the bottom. "Tell me more about St. Petersburg. You insisted on learning everything about me, but when I think of you I can still feel that stark contrast between tabloid and truth."

I focus on the vibrations of his words and their weight on my chest, listening intently to the sounds of the newly hatched gulls. St. Petersburg, the epitome of nostalgic pangs.

"Where do I start?" I wonder out loud. I tell him everything, everything up until meeting him. I tell him about my mom, how she used to cook shchi when I was little, and heat me up sbiten after practice to keep me from catching colds. Back when I was still stubborn and sickly, I would run outside in the dead of winter after bathing at night. The moment my wet hair hit the cold atmosphere of the city, it would grow stiff with ice against my scalp. I tell him about all my rink mates who'd try to rival me on the ice, but I would always fight for and win Yakov's attention. We would fight like that all the time, it almost stopped being a game, but it pushed us to our limits. I would always win, though, for attention, in pseudo-competitions, and eventually in my first Junior competition. If it held up, I'd still have that first flower crown. The first crown that turned me into tsar. I wondered if they hated me back then for trying so hard, but it didn't matter. The ice was everything. Gold was everything; it was what spoke for my efforts. As I grew older I could feel the younger kids warming up to me, in Russia and in international competitions. They couldn't hate me for what I had worked so hard to become, so they envied me for it. I was a catalyst, I helped in what tiny way I could to build up competitors, to motivate them, and it became so important to motivate myself when the only other place to go was down.

"It isn't fair how amazing you are," he smiles bittersweetly, biting his lip.

"I am pretty amazing," I nod, imitating his expression, "So amazing I had the gaul to give it all away. I guess it goes to show how much I love you, Yuuri."

"Even-" he begins to speak but pauses, chewing his lip and choosing carefully his words. "Even if that isn't true, Victor...even if you'd rather never have met me in exchange for a second chance...I'll change your mind. I'm going to make you proud, so don't hide from me, okay?"

"I wouldn't try to hide, even if it could reverse time," I kiss his hair softly.

[A/N: Because Victor's character is given little backstory outside of his consecutive gold medals at competition from a young age, I based his family off of Evgeni Plushenko, the skater cited to have been Yuzuru Hanyu's inspiration.]


	17. Chapter 17

After our excursion, my muse seems to return. I don't try to hide the extra practice from Yuuri anymore...it's hard trying to hide anything, living together and even sleeping together. He seemed almost proud of me when I finally admitted the secret, promising not to sneak out to watch provided I make up the lost hours of sleep.

It's been nearly three months now since Yuuri has come back to Japan. June and July have been humid and mostly rainy all the way through, which is apparently not all that unusual here. The weather may have gotten me into a poor mood if it weren't for the sudden change of pace that comes along with the process of choosing new music and learning new choreography during this time of year.

Yuuri has entrusted me with choosing the piece this season, a monumental task for an ex-competitor with little musical background, but I can't let anyone else pick up the slack from such an excuse. I'm sitting on the bench with Yuuri as he takes a break from the jump practice regimen I've composed for him, another blank staff paper on my lap atop a rather thick pile of discarded melodies.

"Ahh, take a break with me," he complains, catching his breath and drinking from his water bottle. "I have some grapes in my bag, I'll go grab them. When I come back you'd better not have those earbuds in!"

I chuckle with a false air of maturity at his shallow threat, but do as he asks nonetheless. He rushes back in with a container of black grapes, as promised, and sets them in between us. He shoves a few into his mouth, offering a vine to me. I take it and smile, remembering an old game I used to play with an old flirt of mine.

"Hey, let's play a game," I suggest.

"What kind of game?" he asks, still chewing away.

"I throw grapes at you, and you have to catch them in your mouth. If you miss, you throw the grapes at me. Whoever eats the most wins."

"What do they win?" he asks, holding a new vine in his hand, reading a missile.

I shrug my shoulders. That was never important. He doesn't seem to mind, so the game begins. Grapes fly everywhere, except for their targets. The first bounces off my nose, the next off of Yuuri's cheek. Over the course of five minutes, I've caught about three in my mouth and Yuuri has caught five. The rest are gone, sprawled all over the floor. I never could have imagined two professional athletes could be so uncoordinated. Yuuri twists the last, largest vine wistfully between his fingers, looking at the dried up duds on its branches.

"Yakov once told me that if you don't fall while you're ripe, you become shriveled up and useless. How is that fair? It takes so long to ripen, and once you get there you start to rot right away."

"...He told that to me, too. I asked the same question."

"What did he say?"

"'It's not fair.'"

Yuuri snorts. "Well, that's why we have to work so hard. That's the only reason we're great."

"The riper we get, the sweeter it feels to win, doesn't it?"

Yuuri stops when I say that, as if I've startled him. His face quickly shifts and he looks at me casually though, nodding.

"I've still got four promised gold medals waiting for me, Victor."

I stand up, setting my sights on the ice. My skates are still on from the short practice we do together to warm up, and so their presence is enough to compel me. Wordlessly, I coast off alone. The satisfaction of finding my lone reflection in the ice is indescribable. After circling around twice, I T-stop in the middle of the rink, finding Yuuri in the empty audience like he used to find me before a routine at competition.

"Watch me, Yuuri," I say without a hint of fear. My legs move on their own, and I don't resist. I dance there the only reckless way I know how to, daring to defy my own will. After these past weeks with the knee brace I've taught myself which moves are safe and which are not, but those limitations don't apply when rational caution gets blown to the wayside.

"V-victor!" Yuuri calls out after I've already set myself up for a jump. It's too late, so I don't hold back. Hesitation for an instant could destroy the fluency and execution of any move. Both of my skates leave the ice and fly into the air with calculated momentum.

"Double axel!" I shout my imaginary narration into the air. As soon as my right skate hits back down I botch the balancing aspect, not giving my left leg enough time to fall softly behind before starting backwards. I aim the fall on my right side, rolling onto my back.

"Victor!" I can hear Yuuri shout even before the fall finishes, his skates clanking over the curb of the rink.

"Ahh," I sigh emphatically. "He over-rotated."

"Victor," Yuuri shouts two feet from me, a worried soreness is his voice. He slide stops, kneeling to where I lay. "What were you thinking?!"

"Hmm...I'm wasn't," I decide, bringing my burning hands to my head. He pushes his fingers into my knee, having seen the impact of the landing, and I wince at the pain in my cartilage, my hands rushing to the point of pressure.

"Don't try that again," he says. His eyes are furious, but his lips can't help from forming into a slick smirk. "Not yet. What if your leg misaligns? What's the likelihood you'll try one more time?"

 _That, I can answer._

"One hundred percent, Yuuri."

 _It's time to fly._

He looks away at my words, hiding his expression, but I can tell he isn't really upset with me. I stand up without the need of his assistance, and his sighs heavily in relief and amusement.

"I'm getting back to that sheet music," I say, "So no more breaks until lunchtime!"

Yuuko runs in then, presumably having heard Yuuri's surprised screams, but we don't need to reassure her. She's already distracted by the grapes sprawled all over the floor.

"If you two don't stop messing around and playing with your food," she yells farcically, "I'll start charging you extra!"

She runs back out and Yuuri and I look at each other, bursting into laughter. 


	18. Chapter 18

I glance down at my phone on the desk, checking the time. It's already well into the morning, almost time for the resort to open for new guests. I stretch my arms above my head, releasing a long yawn, and then squish them between my pink, fluffy pajama pants covered thighs to rub out the chill from the air conditioner. I've been awake since the wee hours of the morning, having slept in the guest room last night. Yuuri is probably still asleep, hung up with a summer cold, but luckily for him when it blows over his choreography is finally finished. Sitting below the lamplight in front of me lies a masterpiece weeks in the making. I pick up the pile of music and loose choreographic notes, finding a folder in the drawers of the desk to organize everything, and run to the bathroom to take a quick leak.

When I open the door, my small, sickly Japanese boyfriend is standing there with a surgical mask on his face and his manhood out in the open.

"H-hey!" Yuuri squeals, hurrying to zip up his fly, "You didn't knock!"

I'm amused by his embarrassment, considering everything we've already been through.

"You didn't lock," I chuckle.

"Ahh, you aren't funny," he pouts, struggling with his dress pants. I come up from behind him, pressing my bare chest up against his wrinkled A-shirt, and help him latch on his belt. After a moment of resisting he lets go of it, leaving me to make the final adjustments. I can feel the warmth of his head on my cheek, our height difference just significant enough to allow me to rest my head on top of his.

"Don't you have a job to get back to?" he asks, pulling his face mask down over his chin and wrapping his biceps around my forearms, my thumbs still holding his belt buckles.

"I'm full time coach now, Yuuri," I chuckle, "I _am_ doing my job. Now get back to bed, before your cold gets worse."

"Full time coach," he smiles, "and full time fiancé."

My heart jumps when he says those words. Fiancé, that's right. _Fiancé_. I'm suddenly aware of the ring on my finger, inches away from his crotch. Holy crap am I hard right now.

"Ahh, Yuuri!" I squish his feverish body uncontrollably, "I love it when you say gushy stuff like that!"

He pats my arm as I strangle him, physically unable to reciprocate in any other fashion, until I release him and walk him back to bed.

[A/N: One time I bought my straight male friend pink pajama pants...his mother was not very happy with me.]


	19. Chapter 19

The days to our first competition of the new season are rapidly counting down. Summer days came to an end more quickly than they did a start, the Japanese maple leaves just beginning to turn their vibrant autumn red the week before our departure for Canada and the CS Autumn Classics gold medal. I spend a lot of time out in the crisp, cool air now, having finally finished all of my work, and it's nice to feel the fleeting sense of relief while I still have the chance. Yuuri still goes to the rink like there's no tomorrow, working out those ridiculous muscles more often than not, so it comes as a surprise every night that he still has the energy to shoot the breeze with me. It's good to see at least that he's eating like a horse, and his insatiable appetite has even given me the motivation to cook healthy and hearty meals more often.

These last couple days have been strangely emotional. It's not that hollow, empty feeling that I remember, but rather a sort of full and warm and painful sorrow that I'm leaving Japan, even though it's only for a little while. As much as I joke about it, Hiroko really has become like a second mother to me, and even Toshiya and Mari have begun to treat me like a part of the family. As I pack my suitcases that entered Yu-topia self-righteously, I realize I've earned my place to finally call this house a home. Ironic, in the midst of our preparation to depart from it.

Still, it's promising to have a place to come back to. I look over to Yuuri's busy scrambling on the floor, imagining the thoughts that are racing through his mind. _Is he sad to have to leave home again? Is he eager to see what the future holds? Or nervous for what success he has to uphold?_

"What do you want for dinner tomorrow?" I ask all of the sudden, hoping to snap him out of his frenzied trance. His furrowed brows relax at the sound of my voice, and he pauses to pull off his glasses and wipe the sweat from his nose.

"Everything you cook is good now," he smiles, pushing back his glasses and looking at me where I sit on the bed.

"Something special, though," I pout, unsatisfied by his flattery, "It'll be our last home cooked meal for three months."

He runs his fingers through his messy, greasy hair, presumably contemplating his options. His eyes widen, then squint.

"You've thought of what you want," I chuckle.

"I don't know if you can make it, though…" his eyebrows furrow again hesitantly.

"What is it?"

"Shchi. I want to try homemade shchi. Do you think you can make it with what we have here, though?" he asks.

I list off the ingredients out loud, already preparing the trip to the grocery store. "I'll need cabbage and stock...I think we have the rest of the vegetables on hand...oh, but I doubt the store will sell smetana, so it won't taste exactly like mom's…"

"You can make it?" he asks excitedly.

"Caraway seeds, dill...it looks like it won't be a big trip either-"

"Ahh, Victor! You never let me down!" he virtually screeches. I'm glad to see that old hesitancy has been chased away.

"Well then, let's finish packing tonight," I tell him, "And bring a lot of warm clothes...I can't have you catching something. And don't forget your chapstick, or your leg weights...or your extra laces and guards-"

"Victor," he stops me, his bag already zipped and filled to the brim.

"You have _everything?_ "

"Yup."

"Extra socks?"

"Mmhm."

"Underwear?"

"I _got_ it."

"How about your costume?"

"I-uh," he looks around, his eyes full of panic again.

"That was a trick question," I smile at him apologetically, "I've got that packed already for you. But I'm glad to see you on your toes."

It's his turn to pout at my teasing. I finish packing my bag, throwing in my various bottles of prescriptions and vitamins to top off the layers upon layers of pre-planned outfits. Yuuri helps me lift the suitcase off the bed, its weight so significant it's left a visible outline of its frame on the comforter.

"It's good to know I don't have to worry about you forgetting anything," he jokes, slamming the bag into the corner next to his own.

"Lots of practice," I grin, "And _lots_ of mistakes in the past."

He laughs at that, his face going beet red in amusement.

"What?"

"I'm just imagining you having to perform commando because you forgot to pack extra underwear," he predicts, remembering my list of necessities.

"Ugh...don't make me think about it…" I admit, collapsing onto the bed again. He clicks off the ring light and follows my lead, lying down horizontally on my stomach. We talk away our last night in Japan until we're both too tired to reminisce and pass out where we lay.


	20. Chapter 20

On the plane that brought us to our first competition, as Yuuri rested his jetlagged head on my shoulder, his breath still smelled strangely of shchi. He refused breakfast on our overnight flight to America, so even on the connecting flight to Canada the hint of sour dill hung in the back of his throat. I should probably have scolded him for that, but...the American airline food was pretty gross. Besides, even then there wasn't a doubt in my mind that he wouldn't qualify for Skate Canada, and then the Rostelecom Cup. It wasn't overconfidence that had brought us to that level of comfort, but the opposite: sheer practice and physical prowess. To recount the outcome of each competition would only spoil the results of the Grand Prix.

Instead, why not recall what ridiculous antics we underwent during our foreign practices?

We nearly pissed our pants trying to interpret French Canadian broadcasters on the morning news;

We ate poutine and oysters until they came out of ears;

We came to appreciate the art of lip syncing foreign music, and substituting our own languages' words;

We learned that I'm allergic to dollar store shaving cream, and that red puffy cheeks make me look much younger than I am (though I wouldn't recommend testing it);

We befriended three young Canadian skaters that frequented the public rink we were based at, trading off industry "secrets" for drinks at the bar and translators in the city;

We came to realize that the maple syrup stereotype was, in fact, true;

And that maple syrup flavored alcoholic beverages weren't any better the second time around;

We learned that Aeroflot doesn't cut off drinks after two if you can order in Russian,

And that I am a pretty touchy-feely drunk, even forty thousand feet in the air;

We bought matching woolen sweaters in Moscow that read "ataka" and "polucheno";

We slept like cats for nearly an entire week, getting ready late in the afternoon to test out new local restaurants every night;

We had to break out my second debit card after getting rejected at Gorky Park in the wee hours of the morning;

We found the most intricate graffiti of our lives on the tall brick buildings in the residential sector of the city;

We ran into Yurio too many times to count-to the point where he swore we were purposely stalking him,

And one time even caught him and Otabek singing Russian metal at a karaoke bar (it's frightening how much kids his age change in a year);

We got stopped at a storefront by an old lady who told us our fortunes, claiming we would soon pay a small debt for a big reward,

A prediction which led Yuuri and I to promptly hyperventilate and spend the rest of the morning working out at the expensive gym in our hotel;

We discovered how difficult it is to try to get rid of the smell of sweat without spending our emergency funds at the laundromat;

And how December is never a good time to try to exchange yen for rubles when you've already burned through both your debit cards;

In short, we had expensive fun, until we got to China;

And by then we were out of time for fun, because the Grand Prix Final hit Yuuri like a brick wall.


	21. Chapter 21

[A/N: Because at the time of writing this announced international figure skating competitions for 2017 were limited up to and including the ISU World Championships (taking place in April), the following championship titles and dates are projected based off of previous years: Oct 5-7, 2017 Autumn Classic International; Oct 26-28, 2017 Skate Canada International; Nov 23-25, 2017 Rostelecom Cup; Dec 8-10, 2017 Grand Prix Final (while the GPF location for 2017 has been announced, I have changed it to Beijing for the purpose of this story).

Story narrative picks up here, moments before Yuuri's free skate performance, after placing second in the short program, behind Otabek. This is the first time in the season that Yuuri hasn't placed first in the short program, and therefore the first time he hasn't performed last in the free skate.]

"Yuuri…" I catch his glance, motioning for him to come closer to me. He's nervous all over again, anxiety written all over his face. Out here, the fear from last year hasn't changed, despite everything. Instead of striking out, even the idea of placing second has him shaking in his boots. _Calm him down,_ I tell myself. "Don't blow this."

His eyes stay locked on my lips after I say those words, and they start to water. This time around, I'm not mistaken. I'm not here to break his heart, I'm here to make it stronger. I give him a chance to respond, but his threatening tears speak loudly enough.

"Yuuri, when I'm here the only person you're skating for is me," I state unwaveringly. "Uh, and yourself." _Stupid_. "Out on the ice, there is no team to back you up, and there are no opponents to shut you down. Everything that happens out there is you. No matter who your competitors are today, you'll do fine if you remember who you are and why you're here."

He exhales deeply, then inhales slowly, clearing away the shuddering in his throat.

"Thank you, Victor," he says, hugging me gently with his thin, spandex covered arms. "Heh, you've still got to work on your pep talks." I peck at his cheek, accepting the poke at my pride in exchange for his confidence.

"You're going down, piggy," Yurio shouts abruptly from his place in the stands, his eagle-like vision presumably having caught sight of our public display of affection. Yurio's words don't intimidate Yuuri now, they seem only to strangely motivate him. We've still got a good ten minutes before the his performance starts, so Yuuri uses the fuel to finish his last minute stretches.

Simultaneously I steal of bit of his lip gloss, surprised at the strong artificial watermelon flavor, but certainly not disappointed. Then I take his glasses out of my pocket and put them on, transforming myself into a totem of comic relief and taking a few selfies beneath the thick lenses.

"Victor," Yuuri calls from his position on the floor. I glance down through the blur, not entirely able to discern his features.

"Yeah babe?" I respond sarcastically, imagining my own handsome face.

"You better watch me with your own two eyes," he grunts. I take off the frames, putting them back into my pocket, and offer up my hands to help him stand up. He takes them, despite being able to fully support his own weight regardless, and returns the awaited peck at my cheek.

"I wouldn't miss it for the world," I say. The MC starts announcing his name, then, calling him onto the adjacent expanse of dreams.

"Fight!" Yurio shouts from the stands. I meet his eyes again, wholly mystified by the uncharacteristic expression of excitement after the jeer he spouted only minutes ago. A number of supporters wearing cat ear headbands sit a few rows back, cheering all the same for their number one opponent. Yuuri's face is calm and graceful, and my heart clenches in admiration of the posse he has effortlessly gathered. My faces grows hot immediately, his still figure waiting patiently there for the music to cue his routine. It's like all that patience in his stance has been stolen from me.

It starts. _Ahh, that's my music._ A hundred times-no, a thousand times-I've listened to this harmony. I worked through literal sweat and tears to figure out how to obtain this sliver of perfection that I can take full credit for. But Yuuri is the one who makes all that labor worth it. No matter how long I strained over it, he did so longer. Every time I watch him skate it's as if I'm seeing it for the very first time. He's continuously evolving-he's getting smoother and faster and calmer every time, in every new challenge. It keeps getting harder and he keeps eating it up. His stamina is unstoppable-he's got me racing to keep up. But I'll keep running, if that's what it takes.

He falls in the landing of his fifth quad, something unusual but not unexpected. We knew what we were risking with this new program, and we agreed not to fret over any unavoidable mistakes. I cringe as I always do when skaters tumble, but try to quickly relax my face in case he looks to me for reprieve. He swings his body around instantaneously and continues, keeping the momentum of the routine as usual, but something is wrong. He's trying to mask it, but there's pain in his eyes. I can feel my eyebrows furrowing in worry, but maintain a forced smile.

If Yuuri were to see it up close, I'm sure it would never fool him...but I'm tired of pseudo news covering our relationship with overdramatized headlines. Such stories used to excited me, but now...I'm tired of it all.

I don't have long for tangential thoughts about my facial expression before the climax of the program hits. A triple straight into my favorite part of any performance: the spin combination. I cover my mouth and nose with gloved fingers to hide my joy and worry. _He's crying._ My whole body has embraced the luxury of tension that Yuuri doesn't have. I wish everyone, even all the boisterous supporters, would disappear and let me race out to save him from his suffering. I hold myself together though, lowering my hands and chewing on my cheek. _A small debt for a big reward...I wonder if this is it._

When the performance ends, Yuuri gracefully slides to a wide spinning stop. He holds his hands above his hips, wrapping them around his wheezing chest. I can tell he's in the shape to collapse, something some skaters allow themselves to do (and he has already in past competitions), but he stays on his feet, bowing gently to the screaming hoards. When the flowers stop falling, he coasts straight to me, his feet barely pushing off the ice. He reaches my arms and I hoist up his weak frame.

I release the first question that's wracking my brain, abandoning the soft tone I had planned in my head. "Are you okay? What did you hurt?"

"I'm fine," he says, but he's holding back something. I squeeze him tightly, stroking through his damp hair. "I'm sorry…"

"Stop that," I say, supporting his weight with my own strength and guiding him toward the Kiss and Cry. "Yuuri, you're so amazing. I saw everything, with my own two eyes, and I couldn't believe how well you pulled that off, even after everything we've practiced. But I want you to be honest with me."

We sit on the cushions of the sofa, the pressure demanding patience again. It pains me how much of this is waiting, but it has always been this way. I meet Yuuri's eyes, soaking in this silence, realizing the time I have now to press him for an answer. I stare into their tiredness and find more inexplicable pain. "Tell me."

He puts his hand out, pointing to the Makkachin shaped tissue box beside me. I place two into his palm and he blows his nose.

"Blood," I gasp quietly.

"I bit my tongue," he says, showing me the swelling momentarily, "but it's fine."

"Anything else?" I press him, pulling down his lip to examine the clotting wound in his mouth.

"Victor, I'm fine," he says, taking my hand in his and moving it away. His cheeks are rosy, from heat and inner conflicts, and I accept his response for the time being. Any moment now the score will appear.

"210.71, making his combined score 326.54, puts Katsuki Yuuri in the lead..."

I wrap my arm around his shoulder, smiling brightly at the camera for him. Yuuri smiles calmly, but I can feel the irritation resonating from his concave posture.

"That's enough," I say, kissing his forehead, "Yuuri, you were amazing."

The screen above us cuts to the crowds. A little yellow blob is sitting motionlessly, presumably in shock. No matter how Yuuri is feeling, I'm so unbelievably proud. We walk gingerly to the back rooms from the Kiss and Cry, pushing through the unforgiving hoard of flashes.


	22. Chapter 22

I indulge in a bit of Instagram drama while Yuuri takes his pre-banquet shower. Normally I would have jumped in with him...but he seems to need the downtime. So here's an excerpt of my scrolling.

Posted by Yurio, about an hour after the Men's Singles awards ceremony:

" otabek-altin Meet me at that pizzeria we passed yesterday...post-competition venting :/"

Otabek's assumed response, posted minutes later:

"Pork katsu bowl beat me by ONE POINT. I want to be salty but I'm too busy celebrating with bronze yuri-plisetsky ;)"

Phichit seems to be taking his stumbles this season seriously, having posted:

"Me and JJleroy!15 will be splitting after the GPF Banquet. Cheers to you three, but watch your backs!"

And JJ posted, below a picture of his cocky signature pose:

"It's time to move up in ranks...never give up! Isabella and I are counting on your cheers~! #itsjjstyle"

Some things never change.

The showerhead stops and I put my phone away, waiting with a navy blue suit picked out for Yuuri on the hotel bed. The bathroom door opens, releasing a cloud of steam into the cool air of the room.

The first bare foot that steps out from the condensation is covered in a brand new red bruise. I avert my eyes, glancing Yuuri up and down, his shaved thighs barren.

"I get that you're worried about me, Victor," he says, meeting my wandering eyes and abandoning the towel he had femininely pulled up over his chest, "but these things happen all the time. I'm a figure skater, not a porcelain doll. I get bruises, but they heal."

He settles down beside me, he naked butt creasing the white sheets below. I sigh, my inconspicuousness having turned against me, saying nothing. I can't project my own fears onto him. He brushes my cheek with his fingers, thirsting for a response, and I smile at him, mouthing "ok".

"Is this for me?" he asks, looking behind us at the suit, his pruny palm still caressing my face.

"It is," I nod, pulling apart the boutonnière in my breast pocket to reveal its duality and pressing one into the pocket of his suit. He looks pleased by the gesture, taking the jacket hanger in hands and standing up to model it against his chest. I can't help but laugh at the tiny tail of fabric lying flatly over his private, like an aptly placed censor. He grabs the dress pants off of the sheets, proceeding to clothe himself in the open air. I cross my legs, attempting to direct my attention back to my exhausted Instagram feed.

"How do I look?" Yuuri wonders rhetorically after several minutes. I raise my line of vision to gradually meet him, drinking in his image speechlessly and squeezing my crossed thighs together even more tightly. He releases an amused puff of air through his nose at my reaction, reaching out a hand to help me to my feet.

"Shall we go?" he asks properly, offering his arm to me.

"We shall," I imitate his tone, hooking us together at the elbow. I arch back to the dresser, slipping the room key into my fingers and closing the door behind us.


	23. Chapter 23

Surrounded by all these formally dressed people, Yuuri's expression is back to that of scared kitten. I reach down to grab his clammy hand, feeling its cool temperature.

"Hey," I say casually, as if I haven't noticed his disposition, "Why don't we grab some champagne?"

"Do you really think...that's a good idea?" he asks, a thick uncertain distress in his throat. I squeeze his hand, grabbing a pre-poured glass off of the banquet table and twisting it around in my fingers. He looks at me in a state of disbelief and I down it in a gulp or two, just to tease him with my stereotypical Russian talent to hold alcohol.

"Just try some, Yuuri. I'll make sure you don't get smashed, but you've got to relax somehow," I smile, lessening my grip and caressing the back of his hand a bit. He quietly groans, trying to rest his stiffened shoulders, but takes a glass into his hand regardless. Insurance, I'm assuming.

"I'm going to see how Phichit is doing," he says, staring at his reflection through the glare in the tiny, still surface of alcohol. I release his hand and wipe the nervous dampness that has collected into the ridges of my own palm onto my pant leg, looking around for some source of conversation among the numerous clusters of men and women. Chris seems to be holding a rather captivating conversation with some of the new seniors, but it's worth a shot to try to sneak my way into the conference.

Somehow, slowly, several hours go by. We talk about our endeavors skating, travelling, shopping, and eating out here thousands of miles from our homes. It's good to meet young skaters like I used to and critique them, now from the point of view of a coach rather than merely a senior. While it'd be a lie to say I harbor no envy toward them, I've come to terms now with the fact that it's just as important to set an example and offer advice as I am. It feels warm, too...like giving gifts without the expectation of receiving any in return. Chris seems to share the same perspectives as me, contributing even more to the nice sensation radiating from the interaction. The night ends up a feel good one, at least for me.

When I find my other half, he's nearly passed out (though still fully clothed this time...thank God). I feel partially responsible for letting him end up this way, but it's for the best. His face is completely relaxed, and he isn't alone in his drunkenness. Phichit and even Yurio seem to have taken advantage of the non-existent minimum drinking age in China, because they've gone red in the face right alongside Yuuri.

"You lightweights!" I shout with enthusiastic irritation, "Do you all have rides?"

"I've got the short one," a tired but sober Otabek says defensively from his seat across the room.

"I'm still growing, stupid!" Yurio shouts. Otabek pouts, but hides a smile behind his harsh gaze.

"Ciao-ciao's around here...somewhere…" Phichit searches around dazedly.

"My fiancé is driving!" Yuuri smiles brightly, seemingly unaware of me from the sound of my raspy voice. I force him into another embrace in response to that seldom uttered word, filled with my own natural intoxication.

"But Yuuri," I remember amidst the euphoric outburst, "We don't have a car!"

 _The last shuttle left an hour ago…_

The walk is long and cold.


	24. Chapter 24

[A/N: Vomit warning.]

It seems like no matter how long I cuddle him, his hands and shins will stay as cold as ice. Tired and frostbitten he lies beside me, motionless, like a fresh corpse. Still, he jolts back at my warm touch in sensitive areas, reminding me of his vivacity, so I try as best as I can to make him comfortable in a world temporarily limited to throbbing discomfort. Cold sweats come and go throughout the night, and by morning it has become apparent that he has broken down with a foodborne illness. In hindsight I'm glad that this catastrophe happened after the Grand Prix, but watching him get sick all over again upsets me regardless.

I spend the morning scrubbing away bits and pieces of champagne-coated chocolate cake chunks out of buckets with bleach borrowed from the hotel staff. The stench of vomit is somewhat masked by what limited diet he had yesterday, but the base scent of stomach acid still shines through.

"Victor," Yuuri creaks out weakly, the threat of more throw up about to eject itself from deep in his esophagus. "Stop, stop...you don't have to-"

He pauses to burp, but a stream of chocolate regurgitation drips out the side of his mouth instead. I walk over with a damp towel, wiping off the spit, and prop him up with some pillows.

"Water?" I ask him gently. He shakes his head, but I know he has to try. I pour him a cup full from the miniature water machine, throwing in a coffee-stirrer as a makeshift straw and passing it carefully to his unsteady hands.

He chases the stirrer around, catching it with his tongue and slurping up the tiniest amount imaginable.

"Do you want to go to the hospital?" I ask, crouching beside him. He shakes his head with a dangerous vigor, considering his nauseous state. "You don't have anything left. You have to keep something down soon, or we'll need to get medicine."

"Do you really want to go back there?" he asks, his eyes focusing nervously on the cup of water like they did last night in the vicious champagne.

"Yuuri," I sigh, lifting up his chin, "I'm boiling some broth for you. If you can't finish a bit of it, we'll go to the hospital. Don't make stupid assumptions when you could be seriously ill."

It may have come out harsher than I anticipated, but I don't apologize. Yuuri looks back at me a little ashamedly, but I pat his head with a stern face, letting him know I'm not angry with him.

He somehow gets sick again as the smell of broth fills the air, his stomach already running dry, and I realize he won't be able to keep anything down, even with his best efforts. I click off the burner before the liquid starts to bubble, and I can hear Yuuri start to whimper. Though I rarely get sick nowadays, I still remember that horrible feeling of heaving when there's nothing left to give, and how you feel the urge to cry even though doing so makes your raw, dry throat feel even worse.

"It's going to be alright, Yuuri," I tell him, abandoning the pot on the stove and inspecting the bucket of fresh stomach acid. "Let's go to the hospital."

I throw his arm over my shoulder, helping him to his feet. He seems to be able to stand on his own, albeit lightheadedly, so I help him into my thick pea coat and change into one of his thin athletic sweaters. We each put on poorly made up disguises consisting of black sunglasses and over-sized beanies and leave the hotel for the nearest hospital in the heart of Beijing.


	25. Chapter 25

It turns out throwing up in the emergency room isn't any better than throwing up in a hotel room.

Once Yuuri starts dry heaving again I complain to the work staff, using the potential contagiousness as an excuse to have him more quickly examined. As expected, it's nothing more than food poisoning...though I haven't the foggiest idea where he could have gotten it from. As far as I could tell, his vomit was made quite clearly up of two components: chocolate cake and champagne. It could of course had been contracted earlier and only surfaced with symptoms after the competition...and if that's the case, I am even more grateful for our golden lining.

They hook him onto an IV to keep him hydrated and have him sleep in a room for the night, leaving me to hold off the press who begin to question our disappearance after Yuuri's second finalist gold medal this year.

Now when I say "hold off" the press, I'm essentially referring to the number of phone calls and emails I have to send on my walks to, from, and within our hotel stay-though there are also times when reporters will catch me in my transit and stop to question me more directly. Once I realize that fans and broadcasters are still lurking in the city, filling up the media with new headlines amidst their temporarily standstill travel plans after the GPF, I try as best as I can to quit the meaningless pacing and stick to our room, isolated and surrounded by a new rosy detergent smell. It's the first time in months that Yuuri and I aren't together at night, and now even the scent of his sweat has been purged from our sheets.

I don't sleep very well that night. I can't seem to get the chilly feeling out of my legs, having grown accustomed as I once was, long ago, to the warmth of sleeping beside another person. It's not really that which keeps me awake, though, nor merely the worry for how Yuuri is doing alone at the hospital, but rather a new, frightened chill in my chest. I've never really felt this way before. It's a cold, anxious dread. I bring my hands to my own pectorals, just like I normally do wrapping around Yuuri's body, and try to physically warm up the spot. In that tight, melancholy position, I convince my mind to shut down and sleep.


	26. Chapter 26

[A/N: Thanks for sticking with me and reading all the chapters so far, guys! I've decided on how I'm going to bring the story to a close, so prepare yourselves: it'll only be a half dozen more chapters (and the last few are quite brief). I'm glad to have had the support of all of you along the way, you kept me at it!]

Forty eight hours, thirty six awake, twelve asleep. I wake up at four a.m. to the sound of yet another notification ringtone, this one piercing through my dream and jolting me back to reality. I'm not sure which is worse: the initial panic of waking without anyone beside me or the nightmarish world that the sound freed me from. Regardless, I reach for my phone on the overhead shelf and open my email inbox, immediately being greeted by a hoard of 28 new replies.

Slowly but surely, I address each one of them. Before I even get out of bed for a drink of water, it's seven o'clock. Still several hours before the hospital visiting hours, I reconnect my phone to the charger and fix myself a bowl of rice for breakfast, occupying myself with the morning news.

It's not much fun trying to interpret alone, so I listen to the droning foreign voices to fill up what would have been silence and wait for time to pass me by.

At nine o'clock I ready myself for the cold morning air. Neglecting the apparent need for a shower, I head out into the street and amble my way to the hospital, listening to Yuuri's Autumn 2016 free skate song through my headphones. When I finally arrive they direct me to his room immediately, handing me a business card with instructions written in English on the back. I navigate through the heated maze of halls with ease, climbing several flights of stairs and walking a significant distance in the process. Soon enough I find it: D416.

"Knock knock," I say, taking the onomatopoeia as invitation enough given the already agape door. Yuuri has the room all to himself, the bed beside him empty, and his face is still and peaceful in slumber. I settle down beside him, the boredom from the morning immediately dissipating despite his sleeping state. Just being beside him and seeing him there is enough to brighten my mood. A few minutes pass before a nurse comes in, asking me if she should wake him up. As much as I don't want to disturb him, he has gotten about eighteen hours of sleep by now, and the nurse's words seem more of a prompt than a suggestion. I nod, giving her the okay, and she shakes his shoulder gently to wake him.

"Victor," is the first word he groggily mutters, before he even fully opens his eyes.

"Hey sleepyhead," I smile, his hoarse voice filling me with warm admiration.

"Good morning," he smiles back, tipping his head back to yawn.

"How do you feel?" I ask, reaching for his hand. It's warm, to my surprise.

"Mm...hungry," he says, lifting a balled up fist to his crusty eyes adorably.

"That's good," the nurse nods, handing him a breakfast menu, "If you keep down a meal, we'll be ready to send you home. You seem to be doing fine after the rest, so we've got to get your energy back now."

Yuuri nods, thanking her for the menu and for caring for him, and she tells him to just ring when he's made his selection. He scans through his options, not caring particularly for the sound of anything, but eager for his first bite of solid food nonetheless.

When the porridge arrives Yuuri eats slowly, as instructed. He lets me have the soy milk, claiming it bothers his stomach, so I take a sip each time he raises the spoon to his mouth. Several conversationless but lighthearted minutes go by, and I begin to notice Yuuri's solemn examination of me.

"Your knee is all swollen," he finally announces.

"Well, I practically carried you here yesterday," I chuckle, ignoring the basic meaning of his words.

"I don't even remember what I was doing before we got into the emergency room," he admits, looking apologetically at me.

"It's fine...I'm glad you're feeling better," I smile at him, longing for the sensation of his soft lips against mine but resisting the urge. He swallows another spoonful of the soupy mixture and I take a sip from my carton.

"You should get it checked up on," Yuuri says, focusing on my knee again, "while we're here."

"If it'll put your mind at ease, I will," I agree, fumbling through the pocket of my peacoat, still hanging behind the bed from the day before when I draped it over his trembling shoulders. I find my wallet and my insurance card, slipping them into the pouch of my sweatshirt.

I watch him finish eating, already having drained the carton of milk dry, his face bright and happy both from my compromise and by the taste of his first meal in a long while. When the nurse comes back to collect the tray she directs me to the rehabilitation floor, and I assure Yuuri that I'll be back as soon as I can.


	27. Chapter 27

I sign in at the front of the room, absolutely elated to receive a ticket number like the line at the deli. 73. The television screen on the left side of the counter, across from the room accepting patients, boldly reads "NOW SERVING PATIENT #56." I sigh, scanning the room for empty seats to prepare for the long wait. Amidst the sea of foreigners, I catch a surprising glimpse of a familiar face.

"Yurio?" I exclaim, gaining a few wandering glares from my brisk Russian intonation. We're five floors high now, well into the hospital, so there's no way he's come here for any other reason than I have (that is, rehabilitation). Still, I plop down beside him and ask what he's doing here.

"...ugh, why do you have to check up here?" he sulks, ignoring my question.

"I mean, it's the closest wellness center in Beijing, if that's what you mean," I sigh, recognizing my unwantedness, "and I happen to have a fiancé laid up with a bad case of food poisoning."

"...sorry, that was rude," he admits, pulling at a braided lock of hair, "getting your stomach pumped is no fun."

I'm started to get used to Yurio's kinder underbelly the more I see him this year, but his hostility towards _me_ hasn't seemed to greatly dissipate. On the surface he still tries to appear like an angry kid, but he has grown up since training in Japan-and he has seemed to acquire a friendship with Yuuri that I thought was impossible before.

"How's your knee?" he asks, though I can tell his interest is feigned only to fill up the empty space between us.

"It's been alright," I answer anyway, "though I'm scared of what they'll tell me I've done to it underneath the drug-induced comfort."

"I'd worry about yourself, then," he says, pulling down a magazine from the bookshelf behind him and pretending to read it. Not very convincing, considering neither of us understand a lick of Chinese.

"Will you be alright?" I ask, attempting to remember his routine. He still pulled off bronze, despite whatever injuring was impeding him from performing his best.

"It's just a stress fracture," he says, his face getting somber.

"That's...a relief," I say, trying to comfort him and hide my own agitation. Stress fractures...are so frustrating. They're almost inevitable, and when they happen they make practice impossible and limit options at competition.

"Yea," he mutters, "I know."

We're quiet for a while. I want desperately to prevent another silence, and being older I feel the responsibility to take the initiative and continue the conversation.

"Are you okay?" I ask him, out of habit.

"What?" he asks, putting down the magazine he has brought back to his face, "I thought I told you-"

"No, that's not what I meant…" I begin to explain, but don't have to continue.

"I'm fine," he says, looking away from me. _Is he hiding his embarrassment?_ "Does it look like something's wrong?"

He looks back to me, but his face is worried and he isn't hiding it anymore. He's putting a tiny piece of trust in me with that expression.

"A little," I tell him, expecting more without pressing him. He takes a moment to collect his thoughts.

"How do you apologize? I mean...when you do something really stupid, and you didn't mean to hurt the other person, but you didn't even realize it would bother them in the first place…"

I smile at him a little bit, feeling the innocence of his inquiry. I know exactly who he's referring to.

"I'm asking for a friend!" he asserts feistily, catching my endearing glance.

"You just apologize," I tell him without hesitation. "It doesn't have to be grand or emotional, it just has to be genuine. I can tell it's bothering you, so you already feel bad for whatever you did. Just tell him."

He frowns. "Is that really it? He'll forgive me?"

"From the way it sounds, it's bothering you more than him. He's tough anyway, he's probably waiting for you to come around."

"Hey, who's tough?" he pouts, "You don't know who I'm talking about…"

I giggle, covering my mouth with my hand, "Oho, okay. Well good luck with that mystery man, then."

I can tell he wants to clock me, but he's also grateful for what advice I afforded his ever ferocious temperament. Soon enough, his number is called from the counter.

"Oi, Yurio," I say as he stumbles over.

"What is it now?"

I smile at his slight irritation, admiring his tenacity. "Don't walk on your heels like that. It'll ruin your shoes," I tell him, even though I know he's got loads of other identical pairs given the tiger print design he obsesses so ardently over.

"You're right," he sighs, pulling up the backs of the sneakers. "I'd better see you next spring. Take care of that knee of yours."


	28. Chapter 28

"If the bones keep rubbing together like this," the doctor pronounces slowly, enunciating as best as he can while motioning along the thick fracture line in the x-ray of my leg, "it's going to snap again, eventually. Right now we're in a position to say stay off entirely for at least a month, and stop physical activity for six months. Are you an athlete?"

I almost say yes, but catch myself. "No, nothing like that."

"Well, whatever you've _been_ doing is not facilitating full amendment of the injury. The brace you say you have is likely a good option to prevent further damage, but you have to rely less on medication to really understand the full extent of the stress you've put on it so far."

"Rely less?" I shrink back with unavoidable apprehension. I don't even want to _imagine…_

"In short, I'm cutting off the oxycodin."

"Cutting off?" _Is the room going black?_ I think I'm going to faint.

"You'll be fine if you follow my instruction. I would never force a patient to leave in pain," he says, placing a cold palm on my shoulder. "I'm going to splint it and have you use crutches for four weeks, and keep the splint on for another two. Try to avoid sudden movement as completely as possible, and once you remove the splint limit exercise to ROM physical therapy as best as you can for a six month period. Does this sound okay to you, sir?"

"I…"

To be honest, I'm in a state of shock. I knew it wouldn't be as well healed as projected, but to think my recklessness reverted its progress _that_ much…

"Sir?"

"No, I mean-yes, that sounds fine to me. I'm sorry to have caused so much trouble for you without an appointment," I nod my head, accepting the instructional papers he's been holding. He leads me to the examination room adjacent to our consultation table, finding an appropriate splint to wrap around my knee and having me sit for a few minutes with ice to lessen the swelling.

"Did you drive here?" he asks, placing the crutches beside me.

"No, actually...I walked," I tell him.

"Do you have a friend or family member that can take you home?"

"Yes," I say, focusing intently on the burn of the ice on my skin. "He's actually a patient upstairs. We'll be leaving for Japan soon." I continue to make small talk, trying to ease my mind from the fear of what comes next. _A small debt...maybe that woman didn't know what she was talking about, after all..._


	29. Chapter 29

I walk-well, more like _limp-_ into Yuuri's room after several more minutes in the rehab center. He has earned a roommate now, who's sleeping in the adjacent bed with a similar setup to Yuuri the day before. Before I can ask him when the new guy joined, he hurdles his own interrogative bombardment at me.

"What did the doctors say? Why are you suddenly on crutches?" his face is panicked, so I lean the crutches on the wall and waddle over to him.

"I'm going to be fine," I smile, settling into the seat beside him. I try to calm him down with my own cool demeanor, but it doesn't seem to work. I stand to steal a kiss, but he doesn't really kiss back. His lips are still and cold, but…

I take what I can get now, before I drop the bomb. "I have to wear a splint for a while…"

I pull away from our embrace, searching for the light in his eyes. He's gone blank. Not now, I think, not after we've finally won together. I want him to be happy-I want him to feel the joy of winning that hasn't had the time to hit these past two traumatic days. But my own pain clouds my ability to give him hope, a skill I finally thought I earned.

"I don't think I can skate anymore, Yuuri."


	30. Chapter 30

We're 40,000 feet in the air again. Yuuri's awake this time, munching on complimentary rice crackers and reading a thick anthology of Olympic medalist memoirs and quotes. He's somber, headphones on, so I don't try to interrupt him unless I have to. Since being released from the hospital he's been standoffish, cooking and reading with me during the day and sleeping with his back to me at night.

I scroll down my Instagram feed per usual, expecting an uninteresting agglomeration of photos. For the most part I get what I expected: drowsy selfies, photos of the clouds from airplane windows, pictures of food from restaurants abroad and at home. Then I come to Yurio's post.

" otabek-altin and I are official…and we adopted" it reads in Russian. The photo shows the two of them in a well lit white room, holding a chubby calico cat. The Russian sentiment is bittersweet. It's another indirect gratitude towards me for the advice, but suddenly I realize I need some in return. I lean over to rest on Yuuri's shoulder and his body tenses up.

"Sorry," he says nervously, taking out a headphone, "Can you give me a few more minutes?"

He points to the spot he's reading among the vast expanse of unbelievably small print. I smile back at him, understanding the true intentions behind the request, and he returns to the page. Right next to me, he feels even farther away.


	31. Chapter 31

[A/N: Only hint of eroticism you'll get in this story is right here in the first 4 lines of this chapter. If you'd rather skip it, it won't affect the plot, so feel free :)]

Two truths and a lie-sensations I love:

1) The feeling when someone is performing fellatio and their warm forehead hits your pelvis

2) The feeling when someone is biting your nipple and their eyelashes brush gently up against your chest

3) The feeling when someone doesn't want to return your kiss so instead they blow air back into your mouth

...Yuuri knows how to exploit these favorabilities of mine, and I can't stand it when he blows that warm blast of breath that fills my cheeks. He used to use it to fire me up, but more and more often he's begun to use it as a way of saying "not now." Since they took me off my pain meds, even gliding on the ice has become all but unbearable. I haven't put a single ounce of blame onto Yuuri's shoulders-I couldn't if I tried, I was the one who pushed the envelope and we both know it-but he's become shyer around me, like guiding me with those gentle hands has driven the arthritis through my bones. We still sleep back to back.

"Your lips are all chapped," he says, coming back into the stands of Ice Castle after morning practice. It's midwinter again, cold and dry and desolate, so of course my lips are dry. He rubs a clump of the medicated cream onto them, breathing a cloud of warmth onto the skin of my face. "You have to stop biting them. I do it too, but it isn't any good for you. Doesn't it hurt?"

I grab his wrist, moving it away from us without thinking. This gesture is the first sign of affection I've detected in his voice for too long.

"It does," I tell him, but biting isn't the reason why. "It hurts so much, Yuuri."

We kiss-a warm, wet kiss. It feels like I haven't touched those lips is years, though it hasn't been so long as a few weeks. That day, the splint that convinced him every tender touch was a mistake, was the last kiss he afforded me. I'm tired of this space growing between us-the same space that separates me from the people who were once so close-the space that feeds only on time. I can't let go. He pulls away only to steal a breath of air and comes back to me, his return of emotion becoming evident. He doesn't blow back into my mouth-for once both of us are here to take.

"I love you," I tell him, "don't you know that? Don't you remember how I told you I _wouldn't…_ " my voice begins to tremble. _Why does it hurt so much?_ "I wouldn't reverse time, so let me love you."

"I love you, too," he holds me tight. I squeeze back tighter. The pain in my chest goes away.

The reason every setback hasn't ripped us apart lies in those words. We were never apart, Yuuri and I. The only thing I ever loved more than skating was Yuuri's embrace, and now I know I'll never need to let go.


	32. Chapter 32

[A/N: Chapter request by psycho-uchiha, this is Yuuri's perspective in Chapters 29, 30, and 31~]

Chapter 29-

He comes into the room _on crutches._ My face must show my immediate devastation, if not the words that come flying out before my mind can articulate a proper way of inquiring. He sets the crutches against the wall and walks over as normally as the new splint on his knee allows, trying to comfort me. These past few months together, I've tried to do what always failed: be the strong one for him. Still, innately, he's the one comforting me.

"I'm going to be fine," he smiles, resting in the seat beside me. A lie. The second lie, since that night he answered "no" when I asked if it hurt. I don't know if I have the courage to comfort him further. He stands up again, putting his warm hands around my shoulders, and steals a kiss. I don't resist, but neither do I reciprocate. Still, he takes what he can get, tenderly. I want to cry, but the shock is too fresh. All I do is stare as he tells me what I know is coming next.

"I don't think I can skate anymore, Yuuri."

I swallow hard and close my eyes, nodding.

"Alright."

Chapter 30-

Eating was always my go-to coping mechanism. When I was nervous, I ate. When I was hit by a bout of unrequited love, I ate. When a test was coming up, I ate. When I failed the test, I ate. When Vicchan was sick, I ate. When Vicchan died, I ate. When training got intense, I ate. When I lost, I ate.

Now when I won, I ate too. It didn't really feel like a victory, if we're being honest. The loss was too great. I should have seen it coming. I should have at the very least _considered_ it could come. I should have told him to slow down. I should have told him to be more careful, that enough was enough. I should have told him not to get so excited, but I was too excited myself. Childish. Selfish. Arrogant. I wish I could shut down my own brain, and stop worrying about "should have, could have, would have" scenarios. I wish I lived in a different present, where I lost and Victor might have won.

The music streaming through my headphones has degraded as autoplay has taken me from classical to death metal, but I don't care enough to change it. Apparently, I'm also reading about the 1920s history of Olympic women's figure skating now. My eyes are recognizing every individual Kanji, but my mind is too preoccupied by this lingering gloom of what comes next for us to really understand. Suddenly, a heavy head leans on my shoulder. For a moment I want to let it lie there, the soft strays of dusty platinum hair brushing against my cheek. I love him too much to let him forgive me that easily, though. I need time alone, to punish myself.

"Sorry...could you give me a few more minutes?"

I point to the spot my eyes were tracing on the page as an excuse. He smiles, visibly hurt by my suggestion, but I try to hide how it pains me to see him all alone. It's not so long until we're home.

Chapter 31-

I've discovered a way to almost comically reject Victor this past week. It's not too harsh, so neither of us has brought up the fact that we haven't really kissed yet since coming home. I know he hates when I do it-he pouts, crosses his arms, and gives me these puppy dog eyes that look right through me. I know that soon now we'll have to settle back into the house and live like we used too. We'll have to make new adjustments to our schedule, new physical therapy, new diets again. Isolatedly I've thought this all through-I've given myself this past week all alone to figure it all out. Victor is probably under the impression that I'm mad at him, which couldn't be farther from the truth, but amidst my inner turmoil it admittedly hasn't been my number one priority of keeping track of his emotional needs.

Now that everything is ready to be set into motion, I know it's time to make up. By the end of the week if he hasn't already made some drastic move on me I'll turn around in bed and remind him how much I love him, and that everything will be okay.

He's never been one to back down and wait though, and today is no different. As he pouts in the stands after practice, I take a moment to confront him and invite him to lunch.

"Your lips are all chapped," is the first thing I notice, and the first thing that comes out of my lips from lack of conversational practice. Wondering if he's been gnawing on them nervously lately, I take my container of lip balm out of my jacket pocket and smooth some onto his lips, over the reddened welts. "You have to stop biting them. I do it too, but it isn't any good for you. Doesn't it hurt?"

He grabs my wrist unexpectedly, tears already in his eyes. My heart sinks. _Victor...please don't cry._

"It does...it hurts so much, Yuuri."

He kisses me-a wet, warm kiss, that tastes like cherries and him. I pull back to look at his eyes, to see the passion in them that never died away, but then slink back for more. I didn't realize how much I missed this.

"I love you," he whispers, an inch away from me, "don't you know that? Don't you remember how I told you I _wouldn't…_ " he pauses, his voice trembling, as if just realizing that he's on the brink of tears. "I wouldn't reverse time, so let me love you."

"I love you, too," I tell him, the thickness in my own voice delivering enough of my emotional intensity without the need of more robust language. I Wrap my arms tightly around his warm, hard chest, and he squeezes back. I always loved him. No amount of regret could make me want to reverse our journey, either. Without Victor, I would never have made it this far. Without Victor, skating would be meaningless. I'll never let him go.


	33. Chapter 33

[A/N: Can we just...the fates have aligned, I swear-the next summer Olympics just happen to be held in Tokyo-Yuuri just happens to be 27-which just happens to be the age at which Victor retired-these men were destined. I hope you've enjoyed the story. This is the last chapter...thanks for reading!]

The stands at the Olympics are always grander, louder, and more chaotic. I'm glad to not have to hustle through them-no, as a coach I get to sit back in my own special seat with the clearest view of the ice. This is the view that I get to enjoy while watching Yuuri earn his last medal. At 27, he's the same age as I was in my last competition-and he's going out with a bang, just like me. Standing there on the podium, smack in the center, Yuuri kisses his sixth finalist gold medal, albeit not in a row. His first and his last Olympic medal in hand, Yuuri takes the microphone from the offering hand of the announcer, juggling it and his bouquet of blue roses.

"I'd like to thank everyone who has supported me throughout my career, even in my darkest times. First Plisetsky, who kicked my butt a number of times literally and figuratively," he smiles to Yurio who stands grinning widely to his left, now grown into a man several inches taller than Yuuri himself should they stand side by side. "My parents and friends at home, my first professional coach, Celestino, and my good friend and well known director of the annual Thai Ice Show, Phichit Chulanont. But more than anyone else, I have to thank my husband, Victor. Without his help I wouldn't even have the courage to lace up my skates, let alone accept an honor as great as the one I am today. Thank you so much, everyone!"


End file.
